array of white teeth as he roared at her expression.

"Forget `Doctor Burns,' please," said he, in answer to the
expression. "He's discharged this case as not serious enough
for him, and left it to Red Pepper to administer a few gentle
stimulants on the quack order. Come! You can do a cake walk!
Forget you're a graduate of any training school but the
vaudeville show!"

He caught her hand. Flushing so that her plain face became
almost pretty, she yielded - for the hand was insistent. Miss
Ellen leaned bewildered against the door which led to the
sitting-room where the old piano stood. Her nephew looked at
her again, with the eyes which the Chesters' guest had
somewhat incoherently described as "Irish-Scotch-barbarian."
He said, "Please, Aunt Ellen, there's a good fellow," at which
Mr. Burns, Senior, chuckled under his breath; for anything
less like that of a "good fellow" was never seen than Sister
Ellen's prim little personality. Miss Ellen went protestingly
to the piano. Was it right, her manner said, to be performing
in this idiotic manner at this unholy hour of three o'clock in
the morning - in a sick-room?

It mattered little whether Miss Mathewson could or could not
dance the "Irish Washerwoman," or any other antic dance
improvised to that live air; she had only to yield herself to
Red Pepper Burns's hands and steps, and let him disport
himself around her. A most startlingly hilarious performance
was immediately and effectively produced. At the height of
it, a door across the sitting-room, which commanded a strip of