“Well, I believe that’ll be a comfort to my senior partner,” said Peter. “He has moaned over Birdsall every time he’s mentioned him.”
Mr. Heminway shook his head. “He will be glad, yes; Ben was a faithful old soul. But this—Manders—” he clucked again—“this will be a blow, sir, a blow!”
“Well, I’m counting on your help in letting him down just as easily as possible,” said Peter, pocketing the sheaf of papers as his mother and his nurse closed in on him from either side. “I will meet you here to-morrow at—shall we say three o’clock?”
“Three, sir,” Mr. Heminway agreed, and went away, stooping, and clucking mournfully to himself.
They managed to keep Peter in bed until ten the next morning but only after his mother had promised to deliver two ladies to him at eleven and eleven-thirty—Mrs. Bob Lee Tenafee and Miss Ada. Mrs. Parker had better luck with them than with the doctor’s daughter; they came on the dot, willingly and cordially and curiously.
With Miss Ada, who had the earlier appointment, Peter Parker was very gentle and very brief. “Will you give Glen a message for me at lunch, Miss Ada?”
“Oh, indeed I will, Mr. Parker,” the spinster assured him fervently.
“It’s very simple; you will just say, please, that I want her to know from me, first, that I have proved it.”
Mystified but obedient, she repeated it carefully—“You want her to know from you, first, that you have proved it.” She rose from her chair and smoothed her shabby gloves. “Very well, Mr. Parker. I have a good memory, and I shall not forget a syllable. I will bid you good day,” she smiled a little wistfully.
Peter, not quite steadily, hurried to open the door for her. “Thank you, and forgive the silly secrecy. I want her to know first, but—you will be glad for us—and with us, when you know, too!” He lifted her hand to his lips, and she flushed to a delicate old rose. “And you will let me take you to call upon my Cousin Amos Tenafee?” she fluttered.