"I don't think she'll have much difficulty. Do you know," she added, after a moment or two of reflection, "if I were you, I would establish her in a really first-class boarding-house."
"Would that be a good way?" Jaffery asked simply.
She nodded. "The best. She seems to have fallen foul of your sister."
"The dearest old soul that ever lived," said Jaffery.
"That's why. I'm sure I know your sister perfectly. The daughter of an Albanian patriot who used to kill pigs in Chicago—why, what can your poor sister do with her? Your sister is much older than you, isn't she?"
"Ten years. How did you guess?"
Doria smiled with feminine wisdom. "She's the gentlest maiden lady that ever was. It's only a man that could have thought of saddling her with our friend. Well—that's impossible. She would be the death of your sister in a week. You can't look after her yourself—that wouldn't be proper."
"And it would be the death of me too!" said Jaffery.
"You can't leave her in lodgings or a flat by herself, for the poor woman would die of boredom. The only thing that remains is the boarding-house."
Jaffery regarded her with the open-eyed adoration of a heathen Goth receiving the Gospel from Saint Ursula.