"Anything wonderful about that?" inquired Whitaker, sharply. "I fancied from what she said that you two were rather good friends."
"Just surprised—that's all," said Ember, recovering. "You see, I didn't think the Fiske place was open this year."
He stared suspiciously at Whitaker, but the latter was transparently ingenuous.
"She expressed an unaccountable desire to see you—told me to tell you."
"Oh? Such being the case, one would think she might've waited."
"She had just started home when you drove in," Whitaker explained with elaborate ease. "She'd merely run over for a moment to inquire after my ankle, and couldn't wait."
"Thoughtful of her."
"Wasn't it?" To this Whitaker added with less complacency: "You'll have to call after dinner, I suppose."
"Sorry," said Ember, hastily, "but shan't be able to. Fact is, I only ran in to see if you were comfortable—must get back to town immediately after dinner—friend's case at a critical stage."
"Everybody loves me and worries about my interesting condition—even you, wretched host that you are."