“Yes?”
“I—I can understand why you think as you do. It is quite without foundation.”
“I am glad of that.” There was no conviction in her voice.
“Of course,” went on Peter, humbling himself for Harmony's sake, “I suppose it has been rather unconventional, but Dr. Gates is not a young woman by any means, and she takes very good care of Miss Wells. There were reasons why this seemed the best thing to do. Miss Wells was alone and—”
“There is a Dr. Gates?”
“Of course. If you will come back and wait she'll be along very soon.”
Mrs. Boyer was convinced and defrauded in one breath; convinced that there might be a Dr. Gates, but equally convinced that the situation was anomalous and certainly suspicious; defrauded in that she had lost the anticipated pleasure of giving Peter a piece of her mind. She walked along beside him without speaking until they reached the street-car line. Then she turned.
“You called her—you spoke to her very affectionately, young man,” she accused him.
Peter smiled. The car was close. Some imp of recklessness, some perversion of humor seized him.
“My dear Mrs. Boyer,” he said, “that was in jest purely. Besides, I did not know that you were there!”