“Becky’s a rose,” said Randy, “from her own garden.  She’s as fresh and sweet,” his voice caught.  “Oh, hang Dalton,” he said, “I hate the whole tribe of them——­”

Kemp came back to say that Oscar Waterman would be down at once.  He insisted that Miss MacVeigh should be brought up to Hamilton Hill.

“He must talk with the doctor.”

“He is bringing a doctor of his own.  One who came down for Mrs. Waterman.”

Randy picked up his hat.  “I’m going home.  The same house won’t hold us——­”

Kemp was discreet.  “Can I help you with your car, sir?”

“I’ll come over later and look at it.”  Randy, escaping by the back way, walked over the hills.

The Major stayed, and was in the sitting-room with the county doctor when the others arrived.

Dr. Dabney, the county doctor, was not old.  He rode to hounds and he enjoyed life.  But he was none the less a good doctor and a wise one.  Waterman’s physician confirmed the diagnosis.  It would be very unwise to move Miss MacVeigh.

“But she can’t stay here,” said Dalton.

“Why not?”

“She can’t be made comfortable.”  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.