She turned upon him where he gazed bewitched and cried with flushed cheeks and flashing, laughing, hungry eyes:
“Thee is a physician. Is not that proper treatment?”
“It is,” he said. “I advise it.”
“Ah, it is easy to—advise! La la la! The music is there! The dancing! I am to keep the children for Bell-Bell.”
“No,” said John Rem. “I said I would tempt you—remember.”
“Yes,” sighed Miss Estover. “The carriage is to meet me at the station. If I would, I could not. Ah, yes, it is fate.”
“As truly as anything that ever happened. You are in costume. I am. I am alone. You are. Bell-Bell does not need you. There is a nurse. Last and least, there is a carriage made ready for us. But one thing remains, a mask for you—and that will take exactly the three minutes it requires to drive to Mousson’s.”
She looked up at him with large, tempted eyes.
“I am your physician. That is my prescription. Come!”
“Oh, oh, oh! Get thee behind me, Satan!” she whispered.