"Thanks, can't. Office hours—see you later," jerked the doctor rapidly as he turned his car.
"What have you been doing to John to bring on an attack of 'office hours' at this time of day?" asked Spence as he and Desire crossed the lawn together. "Wasn't the great idea a success?"
"John thinks it was."
It was so unlike Desire to give someone else's opinion when asked for her own that the professor said "um."
"I suppose," she added stiffly, "it is a question of values."
"Something for something—and a doubt as to whether one pays too dear for the whistle? Well, don't worry about it. If you could not help, you probably could not hurt, either.... I had a letter from Li Ho this afternoon."
"A letter!" Desire's swift step halted. Her eyes, wide and startled, questioned him. "A letter from Li Ho? But Li Ho can't write—in English."
"Can't he? Wait until you've read it. But I shan't let you read it, if you look like that."
"Like what? Frightened? But I am frightened. I can't help it. I know it's foolish. But the more I forget—the worse it is when I remember."
"You must get over that. Sit here while I fetch the letter. Aunt is out. I'll tell Olive to bring tea."