"You're very kind, ma'am," Harvey began, his face crimson with an excitement he could hardly explain. "And I'll be good to Grey," he added desperately, not knowing what else to say.
"You mustn't feed him, mind," the other broke out intensely—"not a mouthful of anything. And no thanks, if you please; I never knew Grey to make a mistake. Besides, there's something about you that reminds me of—of somebody else," she concluded, her tone softened into unwonted gentleness.
"Was he a relative, Miss Farringall?" the doctor ventured, anxious that the reference should be appropriately received.
"Who said he was a he at all?" retorted his friend, turning suddenly upon him as she groped aloft for the departed spectacles.
"You can have the room over the dining-room," she went on, addressing Harvey again; "it opens on the lawn, and you must leave your window open summer and winter—wherever you maybe in winter," she corrected; "and breathe deep—breathe deep of the fresh air of heaven. Are you a deep breather, Mr. Simmons?" she enquired anxiously.
"I've never thought much about it," said Harvey frankly; "but I'll try and learn, Miss Farringall," quenching a smile as he looked up at the earnest face.
"It's life," she assured him earnestly, "pure life."
"Miss Farringall's right," the doctor added gravely. "There's nothing more connected with life than breathing. I've often noticed that in my practice."
But the irreverent reflection was wasted on the zealous heart of Miss Farringall. "Where are you going to stay to-night?" she asked; "it'll soon be dark."
Harvey hesitated. "I thought I'd just take him home with me," the doctor volunteered; "then he could come here to-morrow."