“But when you go to Scotland?”
“I shall take her with me to Scotland; and, moreover, in the interests of the orphan, I shall take her to see that awful ancestress of hers, that Highland chieftainess and Covenanter, Mistress Griselda Margaret Arbuthnot, of Arbuthnot Kill, Cuthbert, Caithness. There’s name, title and place for you.”
At this moment ’Pollyon Syphax entered the parlor to lay the cloth for dinner, and by so doing stopped the conversation for the time being.
It was a tête-à-tête dinner, but as the waiter with the baleful name was in attendance all the time there could be no confidential communication between lawyer and client.
Dinner was scarcely over, and the table cleared off, when Dr. Washburn was announced.
Roma arose to meet him with outstretched hand.
“How good of you to come so promptly, dear doctor,” she said.
“Miss Fronde should know that I am always at her orders, and happy to serve her,” replied the worthy, old-fashioned gentleman, lifting the tips of her fingers to his lips and bowing over them.
Then he shook hands with Lawyer Merritt, who was an old friend, and sank into the deep armchair Miss Fronde had drawn forward for him.
After some informal conversation Roma broached the subject on which she wished to consult him, namely, the organization of a sanitorium for the poor, on the Isle of Storms.