When Mrs. Preston shut the dentist's door behind her, an office door on the
opposite side of the hall opened abruptly, and a young man strode into the
hall. She recognized him as the young surgeon who had operated upon her
husband at St. Isidore's. She stepped behind the iron grating of the
elevator well and watched him as he waited for the steel car to bob up from
the lower stories. She was ashamed to meet him, especially now that she
felt committed to the sordid future.

The little car arrived; the doctor stepped in and disappeared. The door
from which he came was covered with a long list of names. She read the name
freshly painted in at the bottom,--Dr. Howard Sommers.




CHAPTER VI


For Sommers had joined the staff of the great specialist, and resorted
daily to the busy offices in the Athenian Building. A brief vacation had
served to convince him of the folly that lay in indulging a parcel of
incoherent prejudices at the expense of even that somewhat nebulous thing
popularly called a "career." Dr. Lindsay made flattering offers; the work
promised to be light, with sufficient opportunity for whatever hospital
practice he cared to take; and the new aspect of his profession--commercial
medicine he dubbed it--was at least entertaining. If one wished to see the
people of Chicago at near range,--those who had made the city what it is,
and were making it what it will be,--this was pretty nearly the best chance
in the world.