ery hopeful of obtaining any result in this way, but she
dutifully went to work trying to think. She was perfectly amiable about
it all. Presently her husband prompted her. "How did he happen to tell
you what his name was? Can you remember that?"

After a minute, she did. "Why," she cried, lighting up, "he said he knew
you but you wouldn't remember him. He said you did an operation on his
sister once--that saved her life."

"An unmarried sister?" he asked.

"What difference ... Oh, I see, because if she was married her name
wouldn't be March. No, he didn't say anything about that. He did say
something, though, about a factory. You went out to the factory to see
his father and he was there."

John Wollaston's face went blank for a minute and his eyelids drooped
shut. Then a quick jerk of the head and a sharp expulsion of breath
announced success. "That's all right," he said. "Thank the Lord, I've
got it now."

It would have seemed absurd to Paula, had she been capable of regarding
anything he did in that light, that he should take a trivial matter like
this so seriously. He couldn't have looked more relieved over the
successful finish of a difficult operation.

"That happens to be a case I'll never forget," he went on to explain.
"Professionally speaking, it was unique, but it had points of human
interest as well. The girl was a patient in one of the wards at the
Presbyterian. I didn't get a look at her until the last minute when it
was desperate. Her father was opposed to the operation--a religious
scruple, it turned out. Didn't want God's will interfered with. He was a
workman, a skilled workman in a piano factory. There was no time to lose
so I drove out there and got him; converted him on the way back to the
hospital. I remember the son, now I think of it; by his speech, too. I
remember thinking that the mother must have been a really cultivated
woman. Well, it's all right. I've got the address in the files at the
office. I'll send a letter there in the morning and enclose a check. How
much ought it to be?"

Once more Paula did not know. Hadn't, she protested, an idea; and when
John asked her how much she paid Bernstein, she didn't know that either.
It all went on the bill.

"Well, that's easy," said John. "I've got last month's bills in my desk.
All right, I'll look into it. You needn't bother about it any more."

An approximation to a sniff from Miss Wollaston conveyed the comment
that Paula hadn't bothe