"Dr. Sperry!"
A tall, wiry man with a dark complexion, alluring black eyes and black moustache curled up at the ends, entered hastily, tucking the third envelope in the pocket of his pique waistcoat.
A peculiar expression flashed subtly from Alice's dark eyes as she smiled and put forth her hand. "I'm so glad you could come," she murmured. "I was afraid you would be sent for by somebody at the last moment."
"And I am more than happy, I assure you, dear lady," he laughed back, as he bent and kissed the tips of her fingers.
"And yet I feel so guilty—so very guilty, when there is so much sickness about town this wretched weather," she continued.
Again he smiled—this time in his best professional manner, in the midst of which he shook hands with Margaret and Thayor. Then he added in a voice as if he had not slept for months—
"Yes, there is a lot of grippe about."
Thayor looked at him from under lowered lids.
"I wonder you could have left these poor people," he said sententiously.
Alice, scenting danger, stretched forth one white hand and touched the doctor's wrist.