"It's for a little girl who is ill," he said. "I've promised her a kitten."
"So your father's often said," responded the woman, "but someway, I believe you."
On the way home, he pondered long before the hideous import of it came to him. All at once, he knew.
XIII
The River Comes into its Own
"Father," asked Ralph, "who is Evelina Grey?"
Anthony Dexter started from his chair as though he had heard a pistol shot, then settled back, forcing his features into mask-like calmness. He waited a moment before speaking.
"I don't know," he answered, trying to make his voice even, "Why?"
"She lives in the house with my one patient," explained Ralph; "up on the hill, you know. She's a frail, ghostly little woman in black, and she always wears a thick white veil."
"That's her privilege, isn't it?" queried Anthony Dexter. He had gained control of himself, now, and spoke almost as usual.