“But, Martha, I didn't know how you would feel about taking a strange man into your house, at night, and—”
Miss Phipps interrupted him.
“Heavens and earth, doctor!” she exclaimed, “what DO you think I am? I'm forty-one years old next August and I weigh—Well, I won't tell you what I weigh, but I blush every time I see the scales. If you think I'm afraid of a little, meek creature like the one in the sittin' room you never made a bigger mistake. And there's Primmie to help me, in case I need help, which I shan't. Besides he doesn't look as if he would run off with the spoons, now does he?”
Doctor Powers laughed heartily. “Why, no, he doesn't,” he admitted. “I think you'll find him a quiet little chap.”
“Yes. And he isn't able to half look after himself when he's well, to say nothin' of when he's sick. Anybody—any woman, anyhow—could tell that just by lookin' at him. And I've brought up a father, so I've had experience. He'll stay right here in the spare bedroom to-night—yes, and to-morrow night, too, if you think he'd better. Now don't talk any more rubbish, but go in and tell him so.”
Her hand was on the latch of the sitting room door when the doctor asked one more question.
“Say, Martha,” he asked, “this is not my business, but as a friend of yours I—Tell me: Cap'n Jim—your father, I mean—didn't put more money than he could spare in that Development scheme, did he? I mean you, yourself, aren't—er—likely to be embarrassed in case—in case—”
Miss Phipps interrupted hastily, almost too hastily, so Doctor Powers thought.
“No, no, of course not,” she said.
“Truly, Martha? I'm only asking as a friend, you know.”