The doctor lived in the flat below. He was a ready-dressed gentleman, still stylish if a bit seedy, and his large family overflowed down into the next two shelves. He was summoned.
"I have called you, doctor,"—began Fom.
"I've sent for you, doctor,"—interrupted Bep.
"Well!" exclaimed Fom, stiffly, "I think you might be polite enough to let Mrs. Clair speak to the doctor about her own husband."
"What's she going to say?" demanded Bep.
"How should I know?" asked Fom, airily; and then, hurrying on, while she made Mrs. Clair bow low before the ready-made physician, "I am Mrs. Clair, doctor, the rich Mrs. Guy St. Gerald Clair who has all the money—"
"It's no such thing! It's no such thing!" shrieked Bep.
"Well, Miss Florence Madigan!" exclaimed Mrs. Clair by proxy, "if your sister Bessie ain't the rudest!"
"I'll smash her if she says that again!" came in a bellow from Bep.
"You touch my doll!" Daringly Fom placed Mrs. Clair within tempting distance of Bep's hand.