“I would prefer that this interview should take place without witnesses.”
Margaret found that a little surprising, but even then she was not disturbed. There was no connection in her mind between Anne Stanton’s healer and the shabby man who had wooed her cook.
“I have no secrets from this gentleman,” she answered, her eyes still laughing. “He has no prejudice against you irregular practitioners. You can decide together what is to be done for me. He is my present physician.”
“I had thought he was”—bupp, bupp, explosion—“your co-respondent.”
When she said that Peter Kennedy looked up. He tingled all over and his forehead flushed. He made a step forward and then stood still. His instinct told him here was an enemy, an enemy of Margaret’s. He looked, too, at Margaret.
“Your name is Gabriel Stanton.”
“My name is Peter Kennedy.”
Margaret’s quick mind leapt to the truth, saw, and foresaw what was coming. She turned very pale, as if she had been struck. Peter Kennedy moved nearer to her.
“Shall I turn her out?” he asked.
Mrs. Roope fanned herself with her bonnet strings as if she had said nothing unusual.