But his was the better sense, for he stood waving his hat and shouting—
‘He’s all right,’ at which Mrs. Mavor grew white; but when she shook hands with him, the red was in her cheek again.
‘It was the cable did it,’ went on Graeme. ‘Connor’s a great doctor! His first case will make him famous. Good prescription—after mountain fever try a cablegram!’ And the red grew deeper in the beautiful face beside us.
Never did the country look so lovely. The woods were in their gayest autumn dress; the brown fields were bathed in a purple haze; the air was sweet and fresh with a suspicion of the coming frosts of winter. But in spite of all the road seemed long, and it was as if hours had gone before our eyes fell upon the white manse standing among the golden leaves.
‘Let them go,’ I cried, as Graeme paused to take in the view, and down the sloping dusty road we flew on the dead run.
‘Reminds one a little of Abe’s curves,’ said Graeme, as we drew up at the gate. But I answered him not, for I was introducing to each other the two best women in the world. As I was about to rush into the house, Graeme seized me by the collar, saying—
‘Hold on, Connor! you forget your place, you’re next.’
‘Why, certainly,’ I cried, thankfully enough; ‘what an ass I am!’
‘Quite true,’ said Graeme solemnly.
‘Where is he?’ I asked.