“All right!” she said. “Thank you, Dr. Joe—I will!”
And she rose and went into the kitchen. Mrs. MacAdams did not follow, nor did she make an offer to help Miss Ryan. Perhaps she felt that this girl was one who did not require much help; perhaps she had other reasons. Anyhow, she stood there in the dining room, perfectly silent. Frankie was silent, too, and very sulky. Dr. Joe was silent, and no longer happy. His dinner party was not successful.
He wondered. He wondered why he had so many dishes made from roasts, and so seldom the roasts themselves. He wondered why the tablecloth was neither dirtier nor cleaner. If it was never changed, it would certainly have been worse than it was. It must, therefore, be clean sometimes; but he couldn’t remember having ever seen it so.
IV
It seemed a long time before Miss Ryan came back, but the delay was justified. Upon a tray she bore three plates. What[Pg 265] there was in two of them Dr. Joe never knew, but what she set before him was a miracle. Cheese and eggs and toast were part of it, but there must have been other things.
His spirits revived, and so did Frankie’s. He made jokes, and Frankie laughed at them. So did Miss Ryan, but in a different way. Dr. Joe suspected that something was amiss with her, and later, when he was helping her on with her coat, he felt sure of it. The light in the hall was dim, and he bent nearer. It was true—there were tears in her eyes.
He said nothing at the moment. He waited until he had got them snugly stowed into the car, Miss Ryan beside him, with Frankie on her lap.
“What’s wrong, Miss Ryan?” he asked, in his blunt way.
“Why, nothing!” she answered brightly.
He knew there was, though. She wasn’t the sort of girl to have tears in her eyes for nothing. He thought about it for awhile, and then he came to a conclusion.