"Where's your trunk?" pursued the hostess.
"It's at the station," said Harvey; "I've got the check."
"Barlow'll attend to having it sent up; there's really no reason for him going away from here to-night. I'm willing—you and Grey are credentials enough for me," she added, her face relaxing into a more pronounced smile than Harvey had seen there before.
Dr. Wallis was already moving towards the door. The grave Barlow had it open in advance. "You'll let us know in good time when you get another place for my friend, Miss Farringall—that is, when he has to leave."
"Oh, yes, I'll attend to that," she assured him. "Don't let Grey get out, Barlow—it's too cold for him. Keep your mouth closed, Barlow—breathe through your nose," for the sudden shock of the intelligence that the doctor's words implied, the idea slowly filtering in upon him that a stranger was to pass the night beneath that sacred roof, had thrown poor Barlow's mouth as wide open as his ears.
"Miss Farringall'll let you know when you've got to leave, Mr. Simmons," said Dr. Wallis as he glanced furtively at Harvey, winking violently the while. "You'll feel more comfortable, I'm sure," he resumed, his features quite composed again as he turned towards the mistress of the house, "to have a man around at nights—there have been two cases of house-breaking on this street lately."
"I know that," she answered with bated breath; "I'm often afraid at nights. I thought some one was breaking in last night; I was so sure of it that I turned on the light and began reading the prayer for those in peril on the sea—but it was just Barlow snoring. You snore like Niagara Falls, don't you, Barlow?"
"Yes, mum," replied the accomplished, without moving a muscle.
With a last cheery word to Harvey, and promising to return soon, Dr. Wallis withdrew, leaving the new-found relation to work itself out as best it could. Harvey waited a few minutes amid the mirrors in the parlour while his room was being prepared for its new occupant; to which he was promptly conducted by Miss Farringall herself, Barlow having retired for repairs to a very startled system.
"I should think your trunk would be here a little after supper," she said as she showed him in, "and I'd advise you to change your flannels when it comes. Excuse my advice on such matters," she added, a delicate little flush stealing to her cheek, "but I'm old enough to be your mother—and besides, it's getting quite cool outside. I think there's nothing so wholesome as warm flannels—warm flannels and deep breathing. Sometimes I think people wouldn't ever die if they'd only change their flannels when the weather changes—and keep on breathing deep," she concluded, drawing a profound breath the while, her lips locked like a vice. "Supper'll be ready in half an hour."