luxuries appealed to the woman seated among the cushions, gazing
nervously at the fire. What absorbed her were the hands of the clock,
crawling slowly toward five.

* * * * *

He did not keep her waiting. He was ahead of time, in fact--Blakeman
leading him obsequiously through the fragrant conservatory.

"Ah--it is you, doctor!" she exclaimed in feigned surprise as the
butler started to withdraw.

"Yes," he laughed; "I do hope I'm not disturbing you, dear lady. I was
passing and dropped in."

Alice put forth her hand to him frankly and received the warm pressure
of his own. They waited until the sound of Blakeman's footsteps died
away in the conservatory.

"He's gone," she whispered nervously.

"What has happened?" asked the doctor with sudden apprehension.

"Everything," she replied womanlike, raising her eyes slowly to his
own. Impulsively he placed both hands on her shoulders.

"You are nervous," he said, his gaze riveted upon her parted lips. He
felt her arms grow tense--she threw back her head stiffly and for a
moment closed her eyes as if in pain.

"Don't!" she murmured--"we must be good friends--_good_ friends--do
you understand?"

"Forgive me," was his tactful reply. He led her to the corner of the
lounge and with fresh courage covered her hand firmly with his own.
"See--I am sensible," he smiled--"we understand each other, I think.
Tell me what has happened."

"Sam," she murmured faintly, freeing her hand--"Sam has dared to treat
me like--like a child."

"You! I don't believe it--you? Nonsense, dear friend."

"You must help me," she returned in a vain effort to keep back the
tears.

"Has he been brutal to you?--jealous?--impossible!" and a certain
query gleamed in his eyes.

"Yes, brutal enough. I never believed him capable of it."

"I believe you, but it seems strange--psychologically impossible.
Why, he's not that kind of a man."

Alice slipped her hand beneath a cushion, drew forth her husband's
note and gave it to him.

"Read that," she said, gazing doggedly into the fire, her chin in her
hands.

"'I may pass the summer in the woods'"--he read. "'Make no
arrangements--' Well, what of it?" This came with a breath of relief.
Alice raised her head wearily.

"It means that my life will be different--a country boarding house
or a camp up in those wretched woods, I suppose--an _existence_"--she
went on, her voice regaining its old dominant note--"not li