ment Mr. Bellingham
entered the room carrying several large brand-new books in a strap.

"Well, I'm sure!" he exclaimed genially; "here are pretty goings on.
Doctor and patient giggling like a pair of schoolgirls! What's the
joke?"

He thumped his parcel of books down on the table and listened smilingly
while my unconscious witticism was expounded.

"The doctor's quite right," he said. "You'll do as you are, chick; but
the Lord knows what sort of man you would make. You take his advice
and let well alone."

Finding him in this genial frame of mind, I ventured to explain my
proposition to him and to enlist his support. He considered it with
attentive approval, and when I had finished turned to his daughter.

"What is your objection, chick?" he asked.

"It would give Doctor Berkeley such a fearful lot of work," she
answered.

"It would give him a fearful lot of pleasure," I said. "It would
really."

"Then why not?" said Mr. Bellingham. "We don't mind being under an
obligation to the Doctor, do we?"

"Oh, it isn't that!" she exclaimed hastily.

"Then take him at his word. He means it. It is a kind action and
he'll like doing it, I'm sure. That's all right, Doctor; she accepts,
don't you, chick?"

"Yes, if you say so, I do; and most thankfully."

She accompanied the acceptance with a gracious smile that was in itself
a large repayment on account, and when we had made the necessary
arrangements, I hurried away in a state of the most perfect
satisfaction to finish my morning's work and order an early lunch.

When I called for her a couple of hours later I found her waiting in
the garden with the shabby handbag, of which I relieved her, and we set
forth together, watched jealously by Miss Oman, who had accompanied her
to the gate.

As I walked up the court with this wonderful maid by my side I could
hardly believe in my good fortune. By her presence and my own
resulting happiness the mean surroundings became glorified and the
commonest objects transfigured into things of beauty. What a
delightful thoroughfare, for instance, was Fetter Lane, with its quaint
charm and medieval grace! I snuffed the cabbage-laden atmosphere and
seemed to breathe the scent of the asphodel. Holborn was even as the
Elysian Fields; the omnibus that bore us westward was a chariot of
glory; and the people who swarmed verminously on the pavements bore the
semblance of the children of light.

Love is a foolish thing judge