delicate mouldings; he liked the white paint, and the high
wainscoting against which, the old mahogany came out so well; and he
liked the mahogany itself, which was in quaint and graceful shapes.
The dimity curtains, too, with their ball and tassel fringe, were of
such a fresh clear white. They had never been dirty, they never could
be dirty, the young doctor thought; some things must always be fresh
and clean; like that girl's dresses. He was sitting in his favourite
chair; a chair that stimulated to effort or wooed to repose,
according to the attitude one assumed in it. Geoffrey Strong felt a
sort of ownership in this chair, for he had discovered the secret
pocket in one arm; the tiny panel which, when pressed one day by his
careless fingers, slipped aside, revealing a dark polished well, and
in the well an ancient vinaigrette of green and gold glass. Sometimes
Geoffrey would take out the vinaigrette and sniff its faded perfume,
and it told him a new story every time. Now, however, it lay quiet
in its nest, for Geoffrey was writing busily.


"You can't laugh any more at me and my old
ladies, Jim. There's a new development, a young
lady; niece, visitor here, and invalid visitor at that.
Neurasthenia, overwork at college, the old story.
When will young women learn that they are not
young men? Malady in this case takes the form
of aversion to the male sex in general, and G. S. in
particular. Handsome, sullen creature, tawny hair,
eyes no particular colour, but very brilliant; pupils
much dilated. I won't bother you with symptoms
while you are off on your vacation, but she has
some interesting ones. The dear old ladies want