Stanton nodded with a rather wobbly grin, and the Doctor changed the
subject abruptly, and busied himself quickly with the least
bad-tasting medicine that he could concoct.

Then left alone once more with a short breakfast and a long morning,
Stanton sank back gradually into a depression infinitely deeper than
his pillows, in which he seemed to realize with bitter contrition that
in some strange, unintentional manner his purely innocent,
matter-of-fact statement that Cornelia "had just gone south" had
assumed the gigantic disloyalty of a public proclamation that the lady
of his choice was not quite up to the accepted standard of feminine
intelligence or affections, though to save his life he could not
recall any single glum word or gloomy gesture that could possibly have
conveyed any such erroneous impression to the Doctor.

[Illustration: Every girl like Cornelia had to go South sometime
between November and March]

"Why Cornelia _had_ to go South," he reasoned conscientiously. "Every
girl like Cornelia _had_ to go South sometime between November and
March. How could any mere man even hope to keep rare, choice,
exquisite creatures like that cooped up in a slushy, snowy New
England city--when all the bright, gorgeous, rose-blooming South
was waiting for them with open arms? 'Open arms'! Apparently it was
only 'climates' that were allowed any such privileges with girls like
Cornelia. Yet, after all, wasn't it just exactly that very quality of
serene, dignified aloofness that had attracted him first to Cornelia
among the score of freer-mannered girls of his acquaintance?"