“I should be the last person to tease any man. What sort of fever?”
“I think it was a blend of all sorts,” replied Kirk. “A kind of Irish stew of a fever.”
“You are not infectious?”
“Certainly not.”
Mrs. Porter checked Ruth as she was about to speak.
“We owe it to William to be careful,” she explained. “After all the trouble we have taken to exclude him from germs it is only reasonable to make these inquiries.”
“Come along, dear,” said Ruth, “and I’ll show you the house. Don’t mind Aunt Lora,” she whispered; “she means well, and she really is splendid with Bill.”
Kirk followed her. He was feeling chilled again. His old mistrust of Mrs. Porter revived. If their brief interview was to be taken as evidence, she seemed to have regained entirely her old ascendancy over Ruth. He felt vaguely uneasy, as a man might who walks in a powder magazine.
“Aunt Lora lives here now,” observed Ruth casually, as they went upstairs.
Kirk started.