M'Gregor," he said rather ruefully, "you watch over me as
tenderly as my own mother would have done. I have observed a certain
restraint in your manner whenever you have had occasion to refer to
Mlle. Dorian. In what way does she differ from my other lady
patients?" And even as he spoke the words he knew in his heart that
she differed from every other woman in the world.
Mrs. M'Gregor sniffed. "Do your other lady patients wear furs that
your airnings for six months could never pay for, Mr. Keppel?" she
inquired.
"No, unfortunately they pin their faith, for the most part, to gaily
coloured shawls. All the more reason why I should bless the accident
which led Mlle. Dorian to my door."
Mrs. M'Gregor, betraying, in her interest, real suspicion, murmured
_sotto voce_: "Then she _is_ a patient?"
"What's that?" asked Stuart, regarding her surprisedly. "A patient?
Certainly. She suffers from insomnia."
"I'm no' surprised to hear it."
"What do you mean, Mrs. M'Gregor?"
"Now, Mr. Keppel, laddie, ye're angry with me, and like enough I am
a meddlesome auld woman. But I know what a man will do for shining
een and a winsome face--nane better to my sorrow--and twa times have
I heard the Warning."
Stuart stood up in real perplexity. "Pardon my density, Mrs.
M'Gregor, but--er--the Warning? To what 'warning' do you refer?"
Seating herself in the chair before the writing-table, Mrs. M'Gregor
shook her head pensively. "What would it be," she said softly, "but
the Pibroch o' the M'Gregors?"
Stuart came across and leaned upon a corner of the table.
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