"Oh," the girl drew her breath quickly, "I'm not like that—I'm little and childish, and I'm not wise."
He saw what he had done and tried to make amends.
"You are—you, Bettina."
"Well," Bettina crossed the hearth-rug, and sat down on a stool at his feet, "she's awfully old, isn't she?"
"My dear, she's years younger than I."
"Oh, you," she laughed and laid her cheek against his hand. "Your heart is just my age, isn't it?"
He moved restlessly, then stood up, with Diana's note still in his hand.
"You'd better write and tell her you'll come," he said. "I'll take you over to-morrow in my car."
She surveyed him wistfully. "Oh, must you really go?"
"Yes. There's the old man with the pneumonia, and the girl with appendicitis, and the new baby at the hospital—I can't neglect them, Bettina."