"She could read you to sleep while I daub, Jim."
"She? Good heavens! What is it, a pretty young female thing yearning to do her bit?"
"On the other hand, she's as plain as a pipe stem and is an equal wage advocate. She's red-headed," Law had seen the new wig, "dresses for her job, and is warranted to read without stopping for three hours at a stretch."
"Good Lord." Norval moved uneasily.
"Shall we corral her, Jim?"
"Yes, run her in mornings, I can smoke and snooze afternoons, and the evenings are your best times, Andy. You're almost human then. Yes, engage the red head."
So Donelle, after a few days of further practice in mimicking Mary Walden's calm, even voice, went to Norval.
CHAPTER XXIII
BOTH NORVAL AND DONELLE—SEE
When Donelle stood on the threshold of Anderson Law's studio and looked within, her courage almost deserted her. There, stretched on the steamer chair, was Norval, his eyes bandaged, his helpless legs covered by a heavy rug. He was very still and his long, thin hands were folded in a strange, definite way that seemed to say eloquently, "Finis."