She refreshed her rising anger with words. "I do not want any explanation—there are things no woman can pardon. I was insulted."
"My dear Leila, upon my honour I do not know what you mean."
She was near to saying, "I am not yours, or dear." Something in the look of the attentive face and the calmness of his manner put her on guard, and she said only, "That is, I presume, because you are not a woman."
He said, "I do not regret that, but you clearly are thinking of one thing and I of another. It must be the rummage-sale. I have no desire to discuss that sorrowful business, Miss Grey. You have quite misapprehended me. It is of Uncle Jim I want to talk—in fact, to ask advice."
"I did not understand," she said, flushing a little. His formal manner was very unpleasant, and to be called Miss Grey was ridiculous. If he had shown anger or even annoyance it would have eased the situation. He went on to explain himself, rather aware of her embarrassment and not altogether sorry for her mishap.
"I said I want help—advice. I have sent for Prof. Askew. Aunt Ann has telegraphed him not to come. I wired him to disregard her message. He has answered me that he will be here at the house, if the train is on time, about six to-day. It is our last hope, but it is a hope. Aunt Ann must see this gentleman—I say she must. Now, how can it be managed?"
Leila let fall a handful of roses into the basket and faced him. "Take time," he said. "I do really need help—how can I make Aunt Ann see this famous surgeon? Take time," he repeated.
Here was for Leila a rather astonishing revelation of resolute aggressive manhood—a new John Penhallow. Relieved to have been taken out of her angry mood, she stood still a moment while he waited on her counsel. "There is but one way," she said, "it is the only way. I do not like it—whether you will be willing to accept it, I do not know."
"And still you advise it?"
"I do not."