“They’re pretty rare, I understand. Juliet has one in training—one with a good deal of native capacity, I should judge.”
“Let me know when her graduation day approaches,” remarked the doctor.
When he fell asleep that night in the dainty guest-room Barnes was wondering whether Mrs. Robeson got her own breakfasts, and hoping that she certainly did not, at least when guests were in the house. He was down half an hour earlier than necessary, and to his great satisfaction found a slender figure brushing up ashes and setting the fireplace in order for the morning fire. As he begged leave to help he noted the satin smoothness of Miss Redding’s heavy black hair and the trim perfection of her attire. She reminded him of his hospital nurses in their immaculate blue and white. When he saw the mistress of the house and found her similarly dressed a certain skepticism grew in his mind.
When he went out to breakfast he murmured in Anthony’s ear: “Just tell me, old fellow—to satisfy the curiosity of a bachelor—do these girls of your household always look like this in the early morning? I know it’s mean—but you will know how to evade me if I’m too impertinent——”
Anthony glanced from Juliet, resembling a pink carnation in her wash frock—February though it was—to Rachel Redding in dark blue and white, and smiled mischievously. “Mrs. Robeson—and Miss Redding—you are challenged,” he announced. “Here’s a fine old chump who has an awful suspicion that maybe when there are no guests you come down in calico wrappers with day-before-yesterday’s aprons on.”
Juliet gave the doctor a glance which made him pretend to shrink behind Carey for protection. “Will you please answer him, Tony?” she said.
“On my word and honour, Roger Barnes, then,” said Anthony proudly, “they always look like this.”
When the doctor left he was weighing carefully in his mind an urgent problem: After waiting six months before making his first visit at the Robesons, how soon could he decently come again?