"Then we'll expect it to-morrow morning," went on the girl; and for the
first time in days she held out her hand to Dr. Armstrong, "And thank you
in advance for your kindness. Good-morning."

"Rats!" she heard, as she walked away. "I didn't tink she'd do de grand
sneak like dat, doc, jus' 'cause I tried to touch her for de cash."

Constance slowed one step, then resumed her former pace. "He surely--Of
course he'll understand why I hurried away," she murmured.

Blind as he might be, Dr. Armstrong was not blind to the geniality of Miss
Durant's greeting the next morning, or the warmth of her thanks for the
cheap-looking dime novel. She chatted pleasantly with him some moments
before beginning on the new tale; and even when she at last opened the
book, there was a subtle difference in the way she did it that made it
include instead of exclude him from a share in the reading. And this was
equally true of the succeeding days.

The new doings of Old Sleuth did not achieve the success that the previous
ones had. The invalid suddenly developed both restlessness and
inattention, with such a tendency to frequent interruptions as to make
reading well-nigh impossible.

"Really, Swot," Constance was driven to threaten one morning, when he had
broken in on the narrative for the seventh time with questions which
proved that he was giving no heed to the book, "unless you lie quieter,
and don't interrupt so often, I shall not go on reading."

"Dat goes," acceded the little fellow; yet before she had so much as
finished a page he asked, "Say, did youse ever play craps?"