year-old baby.

"Do you know a Dr. Ivor there?" I asked eagerly, leaning forward.

"Oh, yes, quite well," the lady answered, arranging my footstool
more comfortably as she spoke. "He's got a farm out there now, and
hardly practises at all. How queer it is! One always finds one knows
people in common. Is Dr. Ivor a friend of yours?"

I recoiled at the stray question almost as if I'd been shot.

"Oh, no!" I cried, horrified at the bare idea of such treason. "He's
anything but a friend... I--I only wanted to know about him."

The lady looked at Jack, and Jack looked at the lady. Were they
telegraphing signs? I fancied somehow they gave one another very
meaning glances. Jack was the first to speak, breaking an awkward
silence.

"You can't expect everyone to know your own friends, or to like them
either, Elsie," he said slowly, with his eyes fixed hard on her, as
if he expected her to flare up.

My heart misgave me. A hateful idea arose in it. Could my sweet
travelling companion be engaged--to my father's murderer?

"But he's a dear good fellow, for all that, Jack," Elsie said
stoutly; and strange as it sounds to say so, I admired her for
sticking up for her friend Dr. Ivor, if she really liked him. "I
won't hear him run down by anybody, not even by YOU. If this lady