"Well, well!" murmured Dr. Farr vaguely, looking away. "It doesn't
matter. It doesn't matter. Tut, tut, a trifle!"

"I don't think so," said she. And abruptly she went out after the
child.

"Fanciful, very fanciful," murmured the old man, looking after her.
"And stubborn, very stubborn. A bad fault in one so young. But,"
beaming benevolently upon his guest, "we must not trouble you with
our small domestic discords. You are much better, I see, much
better. That is good."

"Getting along very nicely, thanks," said Spence. "I was able to
change position this morning without assistance."

"Only that?" The doctor's disappointment was patent. "Come, we
should progress better than that. If you will allow me to prescribe-
-"

"Thank you--no. I feel quite satisfied with the treatment prescribed
by old Bones--I mean by my friend, Dr. Rogers. He understands the
case thoroughly. One must be patient."

"Quite so, quite so." The curiously blurred face of the doctor
seemed for a moment to take on sharper lines. Spence had observed it
do this before under stress of feeling. But as the exact feeling
which caused the change was usually obscure, it seemed safest to
ignore it altogether. He was growing quite expert at ignoring
things. For, quite contrary to the usual trend of his character, he