Mr. Carfax and Dr. Dakin, who both made simultaneously for Miss Page’s corner of the room, were met by her with a little amused laugh, to which each responded.
“We can’t both talk to her,” declared Mr. Carfax, “because of course we each want her advice.”
“I yield to you,” said the Doctor, characteristically. “But you mustn’t keep her too long.”
“Time passes all too quickly with Miss Page,” returned Mr. Carfax, with his hearty laugh. “I can make no promises.”
“Do you really want to consult me?” asked his hostess, turning to him with her flattering air of undivided, interested attention.
“About many things. There’s that case of Mrs. O’Malley’s. It’s really very difficult. Now, what would you advise?” He recounted at length a conversation he had lately held with the drunken old woman, on the circumstances of whose life, though upon this point she was silent, Miss Page’s knowledge was considerably fuller than his own.
She listened thoughtfully, and suggested a different method of attack.
“Thank you,” said the Vicar, his brow clearing. “I never thought of that.”
“Anything else?” asked Miss Page.
“Oh well, yes; but I haven’t time for that now. I must come some other day. I want to have a long talk with you about Sylvia. I can’t make the girl out.” He frowned. “She’s so restless and discontented. I can’t imagine why she doesn’t settle down and be of some little assistance to her mother. The girl annoys me. I have no patience with the modern shirking of home duties.”