octor.

"It isn't worth talking about," said Hilary. "You might as well pick up
that case of yours and go home again. I'm going down to the square in a
little while."

"You see," Euphrasia put in, "he's made up his mind to kill himself."

"Perhaps," said the doctor, smiling a little, "Mr. Vane wouldn't object
to Miss Flint telling me what happened."

Victoria glanced at the doctor and hesitated. Her sympathy for Hilary,
her new understanding of him, urged her on--and yet never in her life had
she been made to feel so distinctly an intruder. Here was the doctor,
with his case; here was this extraordinary housekeeper, apparently ready
to let Hilary walk to the square, if he wished, and to shut the door on
their backs; and here was Hilary himself, who threatened at any moment to
make his word good and depart from their midst. Only the fact that she
was convinced that Hilary was in real danger made her relate, in a few
brief words, what had occurred, and when she had finished Mr. Vane made
no comment whatever.

Dr. Tredway turned to Hilary.

"I am going to take a mean advantage of you, Mr. Vane," he said, "and sit
here awhile and talk to you. Would you object to waiting a little while,
Miss Flint? I have something to say to you," he added significantly, "and
this meeting will save me a trip to Fairview."

"Certainly I'll wait," she said.

"You can come along with me," said Euphrasia, "if you've a notion to."

Victoria was of two minds whether to accept this invitation. She had an
intense desire to get outside, but this was counter-balanced by a sudden
curiosity to see more of this strange woman who loved but one person in
the world. Tom Gaylord had told Victoria that. She followed Euphrasia to
the back of the hall.

"There's the parlour," said Euphrasia; "it's never be'n used since Mrs.
Vane died,--but there it is."

"Oh," said Victoria, with a glance into the shadowy depths of the room,
"please don't open it for me. Can't we go," she added, with an
inspiration, "can't we go into--the kitchen?" She knew it was Euphrasia's
place.

"Well," said Euphrasia, "I shouldn't have thought you'd care much about
kitchens." And she led the way onward; through the little passage, to the
room where she had spent most of her days. It was flooded with level,
yellow rays of light that seemed to be searching the corners in vain for
dust. Victoria paused in the doorway.

"I'm afraid you do me an injustice," she said. "I like so