“Do you mean—with you?”
“I'm a doctor. I am going to fill my own prescription.”
That sounded reassuring. Doctors were not as other men; they were legitimate friends in need.
“I am sure it is not proper, but—”
“Proper! Of course it is. I shall send you a bill for professional services. Besides, won't we be formally introduced to-night by the landlady? Come now—to the coffee-house and the Paris edition of the 'Herald'!” But the next moment he paused and ran his hand over his chin. “I'm pretty disreputable,” he explained. “I have been in a clinic all day, and, hang it all, I'm not shaved.”
“What difference does that make?”
“My dear young lady,” he explained gravely, picking up the cheese and the tinned fish, “it makes a difference in me that I wish you to realize before you see me in a strong light.”
He rapped at the Portier's door, with the intention of leaving his parcels there, but receiving no reply tucked them under his arm. A moment later Harmony was in the open air, rather dazed, a bit excited, and lovely with the color the adventure brought into her face. Her companion walked beside her, tall, slightly stooped. She essayed a fugitive little side-glance up at him, and meeting his eyes hastily averted hers.
They passed a policeman, and suddenly there flashed into the girl's mind little Scatchett's letter.
“Do be careful, Harry. If any one you do not know speaks to you, call a policeman.”