“He didn’t do any technical swearing, perhaps, but he might as well.  He can put more giant-powder into the English language without actually breaking any commandments than anybody I ever heard.  When he came out he had that look of his—­you know it of old—­so that if I’d been a timid chap I’d have backed out.  He gave me my throat-tablets without so much as answering my explanation of how I came to be out of them so soon.  Then I got away, I assure you.  He had no use for me.”

“He’s probably all right this morning.  Ellen could quiet him down.”

“She didn’t get the chance.  The light in his old room burned all night,—­and you know he’s not sleeping there now.”

“Well, I’m sorry for her.”  Martha rose, her brow clouded.  “But I’d never dare to ask her what the trouble was, and she’ll never tell, so there it is.”

“It certainly is—­right there.  Oh, well, he’ll get over it, if you give him time.  Queer, what a combination of big heart and red head he is.”

At the moment of this discussion the red head was still in the ascendency.  R.P.  Burns, M.D., had come out of his old quarters downstairs that morning with lips set grimly together, heavy gloom upon his brow.  He met his wife at the breakfast-table with an effort at a smile in response to her bright look, and kissed her as tenderly as usual, but it was an automatic tenderness, as she was quick to recognize.  He replied monosyllabically to her observations concerning matters usually of interest to him, but he evidently had no words to spare, and after a little she gave over all effort to draw him out.  Instead, she and Bob held an animated discussion on certain kindergarten matters, while Red Pepper swallowed his breakfast in silence, gulped down two cups of strong coffee, and left the table with only a murmured word of apology.

“Red,—­” His wife’s voice followed him.

He turned, without speaking.

“Do you mind if I drive into town with you this morning?”

He nodded, and turned again, striding on into his office and closing the door with a bang.  She understood that his nod meant acquiescence with her request, rather than affirmation as to his objecting to her company.  She kept close watch over the movements of the Green Imp, suspecting that in his present mood Burns might forget to call her, and when the car came down the driveway she was waiting on the office steps.

It would have been an ill-humoured man indeed, whose eyes could have rested upon her standing there and not have noted the charm of her graceful figure, her face looking out at him from under a modishly attractive hat.  Ellen’s smile, from under the shadowing brim, was as whole-heartedly sweet as if she were meeting the look of worshipful comradeship which usually fell upon her when she joined her husband on any expedition whatever.  Instead, she encountered something like a glower from the hazel eyes, which did, however, as at breakfast, soften for an instant at the moment of meeting hers.