David, who was content that one emergency had passed, she looked
ahead and saw their common life a series of such chances, with
their anxieties and their dangers.

She could not eat.

Nevertheless when she herself admitted a new patient for Dick that
afternoon, she had no premonition of trouble. She sent him into
the waiting-room, a tall, robust and youngish man, perhaps in his
late thirties, and went quietly on her way to her sitting-room,
and to her weekly mending.

On the other hand, Louis Bassett was feeling more or less
uncomfortable. There was an air of peace and quiet respectability
about the old house, a domestic odor of baking cake, a quietness and
stability that somehow made his errand appear absurd. To connect
it with Judson Clark and his tumultuous past seemed ridiculous.

His errand, on the surface, was a neuralgic headache.

When, hat in hand, he walked into Dick's consulting room, he had
made up his mind that he would pay the price of an overactive
imagination for a prescription, walk out again, and try to forget
that he had let a chance resemblance carry him off his feet.

But, as he watched the man who sat across from him, tilted back in
his swivel chair, he was not so sure. Here was the same tall
figure, the heavy brown hair, the features and boyish smile of the
photograph he had seen the night before. As Judson Clark might
have looked at thirty-two this man looked.