He accosted both ladies after his usual gay fashion, and talked for a while about nothings and as if he cared about nothing. He could make nothing of Faith, except perhaps that she was a trifle shy of him. That did not mean evil necessarily; it was natural enough. He wouldn't disturb her shyness!
"I have a sympathetic feeling for you, Mrs. Derrick," he remarked. "I miss Mr. Linden so much in Pattaquasset, I can't think how you must do in the house."
"No, doctor, you can't," was Mrs. Derrick's quiet rejoinder.
"How do you?"
"Why I can't tell you, either," said Mrs. Derrick.
"Mrs. Derrick," said the doctor, "I shouldn't like to be a lawyer and have to examine you as a witness. Unless it wasn't August!"
"Well I suppose we should agree upon that, doctor," said Mrs. Derrick.
"I don't know what August has to do with it."
"My dear madam, it would be too much trouble!—Apparently it isn't August everywhere!"—A very peremptory rap at the front door came in the train of footsteps that were loud and brisk as by authority, and that had quite survived the enervating effects referred to by the doctor.
"Miss Faith," said Cindy appearing at the parlour door, "here's a man's got something—and he won't give it to me without I'll take oath I'm you—which of course I dursn't. I'm free to confess, I can't even get sight of it. Shall I fetch him in—thing and all?"
Faith went to the door. It was nobody more terrific than an express-man, who seemed to recognize "Miss Faith Derrick" by instinct, for he asked no questions—only put a package into her hands, and then gave her his book to sign. Faith signed her name, eagerly, and then ran up stairs with her treasure and a beating heart, and struck a light.