"No," she returned, "from the New York school,--the homoeopathic school
of New York."

Dr. Mulbridge instantly sobered, and even turned a little pale, but he
did not say anything. He remained looking at her as if she had suddenly
changed from a piquant mystery to a terrible dilemma.

She moved toward the door. "Then I may expect you," she said, "about the
middle of the afternoon."

He did not reply; he stumbled upon the chairs in following her a pace or
two, with a face of acute distress. Then he broke out with "I can't come!
I can't consult with you!"

She turned and looked at him with astonishment, which he did his best to
meet. Her astonishment congealed into hauteur, and then dissolved into
the helplessness of a lady who has been offered a rudeness; but still she
did not speak. She merely looked at him, while he halted and stammered
on.

"Personally, I--I--should be--obliged--I should feel honored--I--I--It
has nothing to do with your--your--being a--a--a--woman lady. I should
not care for that. No. But surely you must know the reasons--the
obstacles--which deter me?"

"No, I don't," she said, calm with the advantage of his perturbation.
"But if you refuse, that is sufficient. I will not inquire your reasons.
I will simply withdraw my request."

"Thank you. But I beg you to understand that they have no reference