“I know nothing of him, Wanza. He may be a splendid chap, of course, and he may be a rascal. Frankly, I do not like him. Admire him, if you want to. But I would rather you did not chat with him unless Mrs. Olds is present.”
“Dear me! How can a little friendly chat hurt any one.”
Wanza tucked a wild rose into her curls, and it hung pendent, nodding at me saucily, as she tossed her head and laughed in my face. Her cheeks matched the flower in color. I looked at her admiringly, but my voice was still firm as I said: “I hope you will be careful to give very little of your time to Mrs. Olds’ patient.”
“Ha, ha,” laughed Wanza, crinkling her eyelids and giving me an elfish glance from beneath tawny lashes.
“In a measure,” I continued, “you are in my care, and I feel responsible for your associates while you are with me.”
“Well,” drawled Wanza, “if I’m with an angel ’most all day and all the night—meaning Mrs. Batterly—it sure won’t hurt me to talk some to a sinner like the big man. Besides, it’ll help out a lot. It’ll keep me from getting glum, Mr. Dale.” She favored me with another roguish glance. “You wouldn’t have me getting glum, would you?”
“I wish the big man were well, and on his way, so that we might use the front room again. Mrs. Batterly has only her room and the Dingle as it is, and she must grow tired of having her meals in her room,” I complained.
“I carried her breakfast to her this morning in the Dingle.” There was something defiant in the girl’s tone.
“Famous!” I cried.
After a short silence Wanza said provokingly: