“Well, why don’t you order that taxi-cab?”
“Because Dr. Hayden said you were to—What is it, Jones?” she broke off to ask as the butler came into the room.
“Mr. Palmer, ma’am.”
“Ask him up.” Burnham half rose, then sank back and his wife observed his sudden pallor with concern. “Would you mind leaving us together, Lillian? I want to speak to Palmer confidentially about my—my affairs.”
“Are you strong enough? Better wait, Peter,” she coaxed; an obstinate frown was her only answer, and before she could raise further objections James Palmer was ushered in by Jones.
“You come at an opportune moment, James,” exclaimed Mrs. Burnham, shaking hands cordially. “Peter was determined to go and see you, notwithstanding I told him Dan Maynard would bring you back to lunch with us.”
Burnham, who had darted an impatient look at his wife, pointed to a chair near the one he occupied.
“Sit down,” he suggested. “The police have barred us from the library; most insulting, I call it,” he added bitterly. “So we shall have to smoke here; if you don’t mind, Lillian?”
“Not in the least.” Contrary to her husband’s hopes Mrs. Burnham made no motion to leave the room, but instead went placidly on with her knitting. “Did you meet Evelyn downstairs, James?”
“No. I haven’t seen her since last night, when, calling on Mrs. Van Ness, I found her there.” Palmer paused to pick up the newspaper which lay at his feet, and folded it neatly before laying it on the sewing table.