“Miss Turner isn’t at home,” muttered Dr. Camperdown under his breath and hastened in after the cripples.
A little girl opened the door to him, and said that Miss Turner was in the kitchen, and he might go out there if he chose to do so.
He left the child to entertain the cripples, who were warming themselves by the fire and chatting amiably to each other, and passing into the kitchen he found Stargarde standing over a huge pot of soup that was simmering on the stove.
“That is good soup,” she said emphatically and lifted a spoonful to taste it. “Oh, how do you do, Brian?”
“Have you been out this afternoon?” he asked abruptly.
She lifted her clear eyes to his face. “No, I have not.”
“There’s not another woman in the town with a figure like yours,” he said irrelevantly.
“Isn’t there?” she said smilingly. Then looking about to see that they were alone: “Brian, my friend, do not be annoyed with me if I tell you that you are coming here far too often lately.”
He was annoyed, in spite of her caution, and showed it plainly.
“You know I am not one to fear the opinion of the world when I think the opinion is likely to be a wrong one,” she went on with a calmness and sweetness that did much to subdue the opposition in his mind; “but I am a single woman living alone. Society is hard on women, unjustly so sometimes; but there are certain safeguards erected which are necessary, and which we should respect. You are neither my brother nor my lover that you should come here so often. I have never yet been lightly spoken of, dear Brian, in all my comings and goings through the city. You would be the last one to bring reproach upon me——”