"No, I—I thought I'd wait till you came home from the theatre and—and ask you."
From her post of vantage in the cab Miss Adair looked me up and down, perceiving that I was neither so well groomed nor so dry as I might have been,
"And, pray, how long have you been waiting for me to come home from the theatre?"
"Oh, some—some few minutes."
"A good few minutes, I should imagine. And where have you been waiting?"
"Oh, I—I've been hanging about."
"In the mud, I should say, from the look of you. You are a disreputable object. So I cannot but hope that you've enjoyed your vigil. I may tell you, for your satisfaction, that when I left home Miss Moore was ill."
"Ill! Not—not really ill?"
"Really ill. This time there's not a doubt about it. She's in bed. Dr. Hume says that it's the result of the breakdown from the overstrain which might have been naturally expected."
"Hume! Has Hume been here?"
"Certainly. And another medical man."
"But—what did Hume want?"
"My good sir! Dr. Hume's a doctor; and a very clever one."
"Yes; but only in special cases. This sort of thing is not his line."
