Dalton surveyed the Flippin
sitting-room critically. He was aware that Mr. Flippin was in the
doorway, and that Mrs. Flippin and Mary could not fail to catch his
words. But he did not care who heard what he said. All was wrong with
his world. It was bad enough to have Flora ill, but to have Madge out
of commission would be to forge another chain to hold him to Hamilton
Hill.

"She can be made very comfortable here," said Dr. Dabney. "Mrs.
Flippin is a famous housekeeper. And anyone who has ever slept in that
east room in summer knows that there is nothing better."

Dalton ignored him. "What do you think?" He turned to the Washington
doctor. "What do you think?"

"I think it best not to move her. We can send a nurse, and with Dr.
Dabney on the case, she will be in good hands."

"The only trouble is," said Dr. Dabney, unexpectedly, "that we may
impose too much on Mrs. Flippins' hospitality."

"We will pay----" said Dalton with a touch of insolence.

From the doorway, Mr. Flippin answered him. "We don't want pay----
Neighbors don't ask for money when they--help out----"

There was a fine dignity about him. He was a rough farmer in overalls,
but Dalton would never match the simple grace of his fine gesture of
hospitality.

The Major, who had been silent, now spoke up. "You are having more
than your share of trouble, Mr. Waterman. First your wife, and now
your guest."

"Oh, I am, I am," said Oscar, brokenly. "I don't get what I've done to
deserve it."

He was a pathetic figure. Whatever else he lacked, he loved his wife.
If she died--he felt that he could not bear it. For the first time in
his life Oscar faced a situation in which money did not count. He
could not buy off Death--all the money in the world would not hold back
for one moment the shadow of the Dark Angel from his wife's door.

III

The window of the east room looked out on the old orchard. There was a
screened door which opened upon a porch and a stretch of lawn beyond
which was the dairy.

Within the room there was a wide white bed, and a mahogany dresser with
a scarf with crocheted trimming, above the dresser was an old steel
engraving of Samson destroying the temple. The floor was spotless, a
soft breeze shook the curtains. Madge, relieved from pain and propped
on her pillows, watched a mother cat who with her kittens sat just
outside the door.

She was a gray cat with white paws and breast, not fat at the moment