an end to my being able to be. You will have to get some one else to read
to you after this. Good-bye." She passed her hand kindly over his
forehead, and turned to find that Dr. Armstrong was standing close behind
her, and must have overheard more or less of what had been said. Without a
word, and looking straight before her, Constance walked away.

Once out of the hospital, her conscience was not altogether easy; and
though she kept away the next day, she sent her footman with the usual
gift of fruits and other edibles; and this she did again on the morning
following.

"Of course he didn't mean to be so atrociously impertinent," she sighed,
in truth missing what had come to be such an amusing and novel way of
using up some of each twenty-four hours. "But I can't, in self-respect, go
to him any more."

These explanations were confided to her double in the mirror, as she eyed
the effect of a new gown, donned for a dinner; and while she still studied
the eminently satisfactory total, she was interrupted by a knock at the
door, and her maid brought her a card the footman handed in.

Constance took it, looked astonished, then frowned slightly, and finally
glanced again in the mirror. Without a word, she took her gloves and fan
from the maid, and descended to the drawing-room.

"Good-evening, Dr. Armstrong," she said, coolly.

"I have come here--I have intruded on you, Miss Durant," awkwardly and
hurriedly began the doctor, "because nothing else would satisfy Swot
McGarrigle. I trust you will understand that I--He--he is to undergo an