CHAPTER XLI
I was sorry that the Doctor had arrived in time to catch the Altruist’s last remarks. She waited until he was gone, then sank wearily into a chair.
“How the angels in heaven must smile at that man’s assurance,” she exclaimed. “I wish, I wish he could tell the difference between his voice and the voice of God!”
I was in no mood to defend the Altruist, and so said nothing.
“If the Altruist knows what all this trouble means, he knows a great deal more than I do,” she went on grimly. “I cannot see, I cannot see how the Lad could so forget all the people who cared for him.”
The sentence ended in a half sob that almost frightened me. It had never occurred to me that the Doctor could shed tears.
“Have you seen Janet?” I asked, attempting to change the subject. I succeeded only in turning the Doctor’s wrath back upon the Altruist.
“Yes,” she said, “I have seen Janet, and I wish the Altruist were in Timbuctoo! He has been at the house and has utterly unnerved her.”
“How?” I asked.
“It is hard to believe, even of the Altruist. How do you suppose he greeted that hurt child? ‘Janet,’ he said, ‘I have always had an intuition that you were not meant for mere happiness.’”