“Pardon me, that would be indiscreet—”
“To provide—me—with a solution!”
The distinguished gentleman had completed the buttoning of his gloves.
“I shall hope to see Major Murray in person to-morrow.”
“You shall see him, Dr. Little, without fail.”
The locum-tenens conducted a dignified retreat, fully aware of the fact that the sandy-haired lady believed him to be an ignoramus.
“Confound the woman! How can I tell her what I think?” he reflected. “It seems to me that there is half a ton of domestic dynamite waiting to be exploded in that house. I hardly relish the responsibility. If matters don’t clear in a day or two, I shall wire for Steel. It is his case, not mine.”
To a much-hustled man, whose temper had been chastened by a series of irritating incidents, the picture of a pretty woman smiling up at him from a neat luncheon-table revivified the more sensuous satisfactions of existence. Men who live to eat, smoke, and enjoy the curves of a woman’s figure are in the main very docile mortals. The savor of a well-cooked entrée will dispel despair and bring down heaven.
Dr. Little sat down with a grieved sigh, unfolded his napkin, and accepted Miss Ellison’s sympathy as though it were his just and sovereign due. He still had a vision of freckles and sandy hair, and echoes of an aggressive voice that revived memories of the dame school he had attended when in frocks.
“What a morning you must have had! It is nearly two.”