“Ah, you play bridge. For money?”
“Naturally we don’t play for counters.”
“Well, I’d give it up.”
“You are not employed as a censor of my morals, Dr. Strong.”
“No; but I’ve undertaken to censor your nerves. And gambling, for a woman in your condition, is altogether too much of a strain.”
The corners of Miss Ennis’s mouth quivered babyishly. “I’m sure, then, that working like a prizefighter will be too much strain. You’re wearing me out.”
“I’m a cruel tyrant,” mocked Dr. Strong; “and worse is to come. We’ll clear out a room in your house and put in not only the punching-bag, but also pulleys and a rowing-machine. And I’ll send up an athletic instructor to see that you use them.”
“I won’t have him. I’ll send him away!”
“By advice of your mirror?”
Miss Ennis frankly and angrily wept.