BURNED TOAST
night I feel as one might who had been accessory to a crime. Rosalie's charm was undoubted. Her quickness of mind, her gayety of spirit, her passion for all that was lovely in art and Nature—made her indescribably interesting. I stayed late. And not once, after my first attempt, did we speak of Perry.
II
It was in March that I made Perry see a doctor. "Nothing organic," was Perry's report. Beyond that he was silent. So I went to the doctor myself.
"What's the matter with him?"
"He is not getting the proper nourishment," the doctor told me. "He must have plenty of milk and eggs, and good red meat."
It sounded easy enough, but it wasn't. Rosalie couldn't grasp the fact that diet in Perry's case was important. For the first time I saw a queer sort of obstinacy in her.
"Oh, my poor Peer!" And she laughed lightly. "Do they want to make a stuffed pig of you?"
Well, you simply couldn't get it into her head that Perry needed the bread that she sold for hyacinths. She cooked steaks and chops for him, and served them with an air of protest that took away his appetite.
Of course there remained the eggs and milk, but
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