as if after a severe fever. He was
shabby, too, though the allowance was a liberal one. Fine mornings he
would crawl down Tremont Street to one of the hotels, and lounge away
some hours in the bar-room, on the chance of meeting an old
acquaintance. Frequently the doctor would hear his husky cough in the
hall outside his office door, but the old man slunk away sullenly
whenever the door opened. Thornton suspected that on such occasions
drains were made upon his wife's allowance. Where else did it go to?
He was minded at times to mention this degrading beggary, but always
refrained. He would have to build his wife's character over from the
foundations in order to make her appreciate his disgust, and he was
not sure that he desired such an essential change in her, at least,
now. She would confuse the issue: he would seem to be rebuking her
pity and natural tenderness. So it mattered little if the old wreck
wasted a few hundreds more on the pleasures he was capable of getting.

The doctor's wife had wavered between invalidism and delicate health
for some years, and had settled into retirement until her daughter
brought her out once more, first at Wolf Head, then in Beacon Street.
The household, in spite of the fact that there were only three
members, was known as an expensive establishment. But the doctor was
supposed to be well off, and his practice was good for more than he
spent. If he worked hard all the winter, he was not idle in the
vacation months; his fawn-colored horse could be seen jogging about
for miles up and down the coast. It was generally well into the
evening before his dark face and burning cigar were seen on the path
of the cottage.

The summer when his daughter was seventeen, had been particularly
busy. They had had a stream of guests as usual, staying for a week or
a fortnight, and the busy doctor had not paid much attention whether
Ruby Bradley with her young son had come or gone, or whether the
second cousins had yet arrived. The house was generally full. He liked
that, although he chose to dine alone, quite frequently. His daughter,
whom he had watched shrewdly, demanded people, and the safer plan, he
thought, was in multitudes. She was a restless young person, tall like
him, with fair skin like her mother, dark hair, and nervous, active
arms.

"She will always have some man on hand to exercise her egotism on,"
the doctor reflected, impartially. So he fed her young men. The father
and daughter w