"Look here," began Van Zyl.
The doctor turned his back on him and came over to Margaret, treading lumberingly across the worn carpet.
"Can't allow shouting," he said. "It means—temperature. I—I think you 'd better—yes, you 'd better go and lie down for a while, Miss Harding."
He was as vague as a cloud, a mere mist of benevolence.
As unexpectedly and almost as startlingly as Van Zyl's sudden loudness, Mrs. Jakes spoke from her chair.
"You must take the doctor's advice, Miss Harding," she said.
Margaret rose, obediently, her letters in her hand. Van Zyl rose too.
"Once and for all," he said loudly, "I won't allow any—"
"I 'll report you, Van Zyl," said the little doctor, huskily. "You 're—you 're endangering life—way you 're behaving. Go with Mrs. Jakes, Miss Harding."
"You 'll report me," exclaimed Van Zyl.