the walk to the house with a sense of wonder that even his back could
somehow look so aggressive.

She had not more than settled herself when a handsome roadster appeared
rushing rapidly down the road from the direction of the city and came to
a stop, facing her, before the house. She recognized in the well-groomed
figure which stepped out, case in hand, one of the city surgeons with
whom her husband was often closely associated in his hospital work, Dr.
Van Horn. He was a decade older than Red, possessed a strikingly
impressive personality, and looked, to the last detail, like a man
accustomed to be deferred to.

Descending, he caught sight of Ellen, and came across to the Imp, hat in
hand, and motoring-glove withdrawn.

"Ah, Mrs. Burns,--accompanying your husband on this matchless morning? He
is a fortunate man. You don't mind the waiting? My wife thinks there is
nothing so unendurable,--she has no patience with the length of my
calls."

"I've not had much experience, as yet," Ellen replied, looking into the
handsome, middle-aged face before her, and thinking that the smile under
the close-clipped, iron-gray moustache was one which could be cynical
more easily than it could be sympathetic. "But, so far, I find the
waiting, in such weather, very endurable. I often bring a book, and then
it never matters, you know."

"Of course not. You are familiar with Balzac's 'Country Doctor'? There's
a tribute to men like your husband, who devote their lives to the humble
folk." He glanced toward the house. "I mustn't keep my colleague waiting,