"Why do you make such a secret of your identity?" she demanded.
"Is it a pose? Or--have you a reason for concealing it?"

"It is not a pose; and I have nothing to be ashamed of, unless
poverty--"

"Of course not. What do you mean by poverty?"

"The common garden variety sort. I have hardly a dollar in the
world. As to my identity,--if it interests you at all, I
graduated in medicine last June. I spent the last of the money
that was to educate me in purchasing a dress suit to graduate in,
and a supper by way of celebration. The dress suit helped me to
my diploma. The supper gave me typhoid."

"So that was it!"

"Not jail, you see."

"And what are you going to do now?"

I glanced around to where a police officer stood behind us watchfully.

"Now? Why, now I go to jail in earnest."

"You have been very good to us," she said wistfully. "We have all
been strained and nervous. Maybe you have not thought I noticed or
--or appreciated what you were doing; but I have, always. You have
given all of yourself for us. You have not slept or eaten. And now