Dr. Thorpe's eyes were moist.
"I meant to look into your spiritual state, later," he said. "But I see it isn't necessary."
When the four of them met, in the hall, it was understood that John and Phyllis would resume their work at Saint Ruth's.
"Nothing like it to keep your sense of relative values normal," said Dr. Thorpe to John.
Mrs. Thorpe stood with her arm around Phyllis.
"Saint Ruth's neighbors will be glad to see you again, dear girl. Did I tell you what old Mrs. Lester said to me? You remember her poor hands, all twisted with rheumatism and yet what beautiful needlework she does. She said, 'I should like to make her a pretty handkerchief, for a wedding gift. Do you think she would care for it?'"
Mrs. Thorpe had been looking through the open doorway.
"Here comes trouble, Donald," she said, in a low voice.
John and Phyllis glanced back as they walked out.
Dr. Thorpe was shaking hands, heartily, with a big, sodden fellow, in shabby clothes, his virile face marred by excesses; the frail little woman with him looked up at him with a world of anxious love in her eyes; and then Mrs. Thorpe led her away, talking cheerily.