“The Professor?” he commented. His voice was considerate, conciliatory. “Now, Mrs. Vance,” he said, “I’ve known Miss Vera ever since she was a little girl, known her longer than you have, and, I’m her friend, and you’re her friend, and—”
“I am,” protested Mabel Vance tearfully. “Indeed I am!”
“I know you are,” Winthrop interrupted hastily. “You’ve been more than a friend to her, you’ve been a sister, mother, and you don’t want any trouble to come to her, do you?”
“I don’t,” cried the woman. “Oh!” she exclaimed miserably, “I told them there’d be trouble!”
Winthrop laughed reassuringly.
“Well, there won’t be any trouble,” he declared, “if I can help it. And if you want to help her, help me. Persuade her to let me talk to her. Don’t mind what the Professor says.”
“I will,” declared Mrs. Vance with determination, “I will.” She started eagerly toward the hall, and then paused and returned. Her hands were clasped; her round, baby eyes, wet with tears, were fixed upon Winthrop appealingly.
“Oh, please,” she pleaded, “you’re not going to hurt him, are you? Paul, my husband,” she explained, “he’s been such a good husband to me.”
Winthrop laughed uneasily.
“Why, that’ll be all right,” he protested.