Trail_.

"Dat's de real t'ing," jubilantly acceded Swot. "Say, oin't de women
doisies for havin' bases stole off 'em? Didn't Ise give youse de warm tip
to let de doc git it?"

"You should thank him for saving you from my stupid blunder," answered the
girl, artfully avoiding all possibility of personal obligation. "Would you
like me to read it to you now?"

"Wouldn't Ise, just!"

Still ignoring Dr. Armstrong, Constance took the seat at the bedside, and
opening the book, launched into the wildest sea of blood-letting and
crime. Yet thrillingly as it began, she was not oblivious to the fact that
for some minutes the doctor stood watching her, and she was quite
conscious of when he finally moved away, noiselessly as he went. Once he
was gone, she was more at her ease; yet clearly her conscience troubled
her a little, for in her carriage she again gave expression to some
thought by remarking aloud, "It was rude, of course, but if he will behave
so, it really isn't my fault."

[Illustration: "Constance took the seat at the bedside"]

The gory tale, in true serial style, was "continued" the next and
succeeding mornings, to the enthralment of the listener and the amusement
of the reader, the latter finding in her occupation as well a convenient
reason for avoiding or putting a limit to the doctor's undisguised
endeavours to share, if not, indeed, to monopolise, her attention. Even
serials, however, have an end, and on the morning of the sixth reading the