“Darn the door,” exclaimed Maria rather emphatically. “You wait here till I see who it is.” As she started toward the hall Barnes tried to kiss her, but she avoided him laughingly, and turned at the door, looking back at him and shaking her head reproachfully.
“You ought to be ashamed, Mr. Barnes. You sailors are awful!”
She left the room, Barnes looking after her, very much flattered. Like other bashful men, the idea that he was looked upon as a dangerous ladies’ man was enough to make him completely happy; had he been called a brave fellow he would have taken it quite as a matter of course.
At the door Maria found John Dorris, and as she admitted him he stopped to ask anxiously,
“How is he to-day?”
Since John’s return from his unsuccessful journey he had done his best to keep in touch with the Doctor, although he had the feeling that his presence was not always quite welcome, or at least that the sight of him did more to remind the Doctor of Lola and to disturb him than it did to bring him any comfort.
“He’s going to be better,” Maria answered. “Dr. Crossett is here!”
“Good!” John was greatly relieved. He knew that to no one in the world would Dr. Barnhelm be so willing to turn for help as to this old friend, and he felt that with all his skill, and with his great love, Dr. Crossett might be able to see a way to ease the old man’s mind and persuade him to give up his growing habit of moody solitude.
“This is—is a friend of mine, sir, Mr. Barnes,” said Maria bashfully, as they entered the front room and saw Barnes standing there.
“No! Not the Mr. Barnes,” cried John, greatly pleased.