sh you could, Mr. Carden. I should be only too happy to give you
back to the world with a clear bill of health if you can convince me I
am wrong. Do you not believe me? Indeed, indeed I am not selfish and
wicked enough to wish you this illness, no matter how rare it is!"

"The rarer a disease is the madder it makes people who contract it," he
said. "I should be the maddest man in Manhattan if I really did have
Lamour's malady. But I haven't. There is only one malady afflicting me,
and I am waiting for a suitable opportunity to tell you all about it,
but--"

"Tell me now," she said, raising her eyes to his.

"Not now."

"To-night?"

"I hope so. I will if I can, Miss Hollis."

"But you must not fear to tell a physician about anything which troubles
you, Mr. Carden."

"I'll remember that," he said thoughtfully, as they emerged from the
Park and crossed to Madison Avenue.

A moment later he hailed a car and they both entered.

CHAPTER XXIV

No, there could be no longer any doubt in her mind as she went into her
bedroom, closed the door, and, unhooking the telephone receiver, called
up the great specialist in rare diseases, Dr. Austin Atwood, M.S.,
F.B.A., M.F.H.

"Dr. Atwood," she said with scarcely concealed emotion, "this is Dr.
Rosalind Hollis."

"How-de-do?" squeaked the aged specialist amiably.

"Oh, I am well enough, thank you, doctor--except in spirits. Dr. Atwood,
you were right! He _has_ got it, and I am perfectly wretched!"

"_Who_ has got _what_?" retorted the voice of Atwood.

"The unfortunate young gentleman we saw to-day in the Park."

"What park?"

"Why, Central Park, doctor."

"Central Park! _I_ haven't been in Central Park for ten years, my
child."

"Why, Dr. Atwood!--A--_is_ this Dr. Austin Atwood with whom I am
talking?"

"Not the least doubt! And you are that pretty Dr. Hollis--Rosalind
Hollis, who consulted me in those charity cases, are you not?"

"I certainly am. And I wanted to say to you that I have the unfortunate
patient now under closest observation here in my own apartment. I have
given him the room next to the office. And, doctor, you were perfectly
right. He shows every symptom of the disease--he is even inclined to
sentimentalism; he begins to blush and fidget and look at me--a--in that
unmistakable manner--not that he isn't well-bred and charming--indeed he
is most attractive, and it grieves me dreadfully to see that he already
is beginning to believe him