"Well, she has her hand, hasn't she?" asked Stephen banteringly.
"She nearly lost it. You're going to see Dr. Salter?"
"Yes; telephone for him, there's a good girl."
He crossed the passageway to the library and sat down, suddenly fearing that his pain might bring tears; then he laughed at himself. There was nothing seriously the matter with him.
"It was foolish to have called you," he apologized to Dr. Salter. "Miss Knowlton is to blame."
Dr. Salter bent above the outstretched hand, a stout, blue-eyed, cheerful soul who possessed the secrets of hundreds of men and women, and held in spite of them the most hopeful views of humanity. He had known Hilda and Hilda's mother.
"What in the world have you done?" he asked.
"I scratched it on a wire."
"Why didn't you come home?"
"I did. I'm here."