She rubbed at the place blindly. "I must have got ink on me—when I was making up my book—" Her glance flitted toward it.
Dr. Carmon's eye fell on the open page and on the smudge of Room 36. He bent forward, tapping the place with the card in his hand, and laughed out.
"I never saw your book look like that!" He gazed at it and then at Aunt Jane's face—a little suspiciously.
She leaned forward to inspect it.
"Somebody must have spilled water—or something on it!" she said casually. "Folks are so careless here!" She laid a blotter methodically across the smudge and closed the book and put it away.
Dr. Carmon surveyed the roses. "Handsome bunch of flowers!" he said carelessly. He waved the card at them.
"They look nice," admitted Aunt Jane. "They're some Mr. Medfield sent—they came from his garden." Her tone was quiet and businesslike—there was no nonsense about those roses. She looked at them impersonally.
"I saw it was his card." Dr. Carmon's hand motioned with the card and dropped it to the desk. He might almost have been said to fling it from him—as if it were a challenge.