only by Miss Henderson's cool hand extended to her that Dot knew that it was time to get off the table.
She dressed and joined Eddie and the doctor. Eddie was chatting easily with Dr. Simons. Dr. Simons looked at Dot as she came in. His eyes were still cold, but they held something else, a look of apprehension, of worry.
"She's fine, isn't she, Doctor?" asked Miss Henderson.
You felt that her words were not at all meant to reassure the patient, but rather to soothe and compose the doctor.
"Yes, ah, yes," he said absently. "Quite all right. When are you to come again, Mrs. Collins?"
"The week after next," said Dot.
"You'd better make it next week," said Dr. Simons. "A week from today."
They left him then. Dot went, feeling that she had put a blight on that cool and sunny room. The doctor was worrying his hair with his long, slim fingers and staring thoughtfully after her. Miss Henderson was tiptoeing about as though not to disturb his reflections, unpleasant though they might be.
Outside, Dot found that Mrs. Simons and the child had disappeared. Together she and Eddie left the strange apartment that had stairs.
"I hate that man," said Dot passionately.
"Oh, he's all right," said Eddie. "Nervous, that's all. Clever fellows are always two steps away from the bughouse."
"Dr. Stewart isn't like that."
"This fellow's a Jew," Eddie reminded her. "When they ain't the common, money-grabbing kind, they're kind of erratic."
"You know why I hate him?" asked Dot.
"No. Why?"
