atter with her," she said, "but can you cure
it?"

"Can he?" said the Vicar.

XVIII

The next day, which was a Tuesday, Alice was up and about again.
Rowcliffe saw her on Wednesday and on Saturday, when he declared
himself satisfied with her progress and a little surprised.

So surprised was he that he said he would not come again unless he was
sent for.

And then in three days Alice slid back.

But they were not to worry about her, she said. There was nothing the
matter with her except that she was tired. She was so tired that she
lay all Tuesday on the drawing-room sofa and on Wednesday morning she
was too tired to get up and dress.

And on Wednesday afternoon Dr. Rowcliffe found a note waiting at the
blacksmith's cottage in Garth village, where he had a room with a
brown gauze blind in the window and the legend in gilt letters:

SURGERY

Dr. S. Rowcliffe, M.D., F.R.C.S.

Hours of Attendance
Wednesday, 2.30-4.30.

The note ran:

"DEAR DR. ROWCLIFFE: Can you come and see me this afternoon? I think
I'm rather worse. But I don't want to frighten my people--so perhaps,
if you just looked in about teatime, as if you'd called?

"Yours truly,

"ALICE CARTARET."

Essy Gale had left the note that morning.

Rowcliffe looked at it dubiously. He was honest and he had the
large views of a man used to a large practice. His patients couldn't
complain that he lengthened his bills by paying unnecessary visits. If
he wanted to add to his income in that way, he wasn't going to begin
with a poor parson's hysterical daughter. But as the Vicar of Garth
had called on him and left his card on Monday, there was no reason why
he shouldn't look in on Wednesday about teatime. Especially as he knew
that the Vicar was in the habit of visiting Upthorne and the outlying
portions of his parish on Wednesday afternoons.

* * * * *

All day Alice lay in her little bed like a happy child and waited.
Propped on her pillows, with her slender arms stretched out before her
on the counterpane, she waited.

Her sullenness was gone. She had nothing but sweetness for Mary and
for Essy. Even to her father she was sweet. She could afford it. Her
instinct was now sure. From time to time a smile flickered on her
small face like a light almost of triumph.

* * * * *

The Vicar and Miss Cartaret were out when Rowcliffe called at the
Vicarage, but Miss Gwend