“What?” ejaculated Mrs. Crawford, with startling emphasis.
“I didn’t mean to say anything about it till I found you were charging it on Master Carl. I saw Peter open your bureau drawer, take out the wallet, and put it in his pocket.”
“It’s a lie!” said Mrs. Crawford, hoarsely.
“It’s the truth, though I suppose you don’t want to believe it. If you want to know what he did with the money ask him how much he paid for the gold ring he bought of the jeweler down at the village.”
“You are a spy—a base, dishonorable spy!” cried Mrs. Crawford.
“I won’t say what you are, ma’am, to bring false charges against Master Carl, and I wonder the doctor will believe them.”
“Leave the house directly, you hussy!” shrieked Mrs. Crawford.
“If I do, I wonder who’ll get the dinner?” remarked Jane, not at all disturbed.
“I won’t stay here to be insulted,” said the angry lady. “Dr. Crawford, you might have spirit enough to defend your wife.”
She flounced out of the room, not waiting for a reply, leaving the doctor dazed and flurried.