“Well, well,” he said, regretfully, “so Dean had to go home, did he? Well, I expect he had to get back to business. How was he feeling?”
“He seemed to be feeling all right,” said Ginger briefly.
“That’s good,” said the doctor, heartily, “that’s good! You know, Ginger, that boy isn’t out of the woods yet, not by a long sight. Shell shock ... meanest thing in the world to get over, clear over! They’ll think they are fit as a fiddle, and then let something out of the ordinary happen—some slight shock, or strain or overexertion— By the way, Dean didn’t do any rough stuff here, did he? I thought afterward that I should have warned him, but it never occurred to me that he’d try it. Did he?”
“What do you mean by rough stuff?” said Ginger. Her voice was very low, and she did not look at him.
“Oh—hard riding—all-day-in-the-saddle trips—anything that would tire him beyond his strength, you know. It’ll be many a long day before he’s absolutely himself again—body or brain. Was he pretty careful and sensible? I know how hard it is to make these young chaps take care of themselves, but I expect you could manage him, Ginger!” He twinkled upon her, kindly. It was one of the dozen excellent reasons for his belovedness that Dr. Gurney Mayfield always fitted people out with the best possible motives and intentions. He presupposed them to have justice and fairness and gentleness and good will, just as certainly as they had tonsils and livers and lungs and spines, and he confidently expected to see the manifestations of them.
“I don’t believe I—managed him—very carefully,” said Ginger. She did not meet his eyes. “I expect he did—overdo, sometimes.”
Manuela came in, then, to say that dinner was waiting, and Ginger jumped up thankfully and hurried the doctor in to the table, and she began to talk briskly about her Aunt Fan and to ask interested questions about his summer camp in Monterey County, and it was not until he was well on his way again that Dr. Mayfield realized how skillfully she had kept the talk away from the subject of Dean Wolcott.
CHAPTER VII
IN the last week of September Ginger went with a flag of truce to her Aunt Fan and asked her to go east with her.
“Boston?” asked Aunt Fan, shrewdly.