ed to like the people she
worked for, it was so much jollier. But when she smiled her
appreciation she met with no answering gleam whatever. He had already
forgotten her as a person, was merely waiting for her to leave the room.

"There's no use," she sighed ruefully as she closed the door. "I might
as well try to be fond of the Woolworth Building!"

"Oh, nurse," Lady Clifford called to her suddenly. "Perhaps you will
be so good as to give a message to my chauffeur. Tell him he is not to
wait, but to call instead for Sir Charles at his club."

"Yes, Lady Clifford."

She quickly got into her things and slipped out of the front door. The
car waiting by the curb was a luxurious Rolls, the sandy-haired English
chauffeur was smoking a cigarette and reading the _Sporting Times_ by
the aid of a tiny electric light. Inside the car on dark blue cushions
a small Aberdeen terrier, the picture of patient good-behaviour, sat
gazing resignedly out of the window. The rug heaped beside him showed
a lining of sable pattes. Clearly Lady Clifford, whoever she might be,
possessed an abundance of this world's goods. How doubly odd that she
should allow her physician to order her about in so peremptory a
fashion! Probably no one else dared to, she looked arrogant enough
herself, for all her fairness and fragility.

The chauffeur stared at Esther attentively while she delivered the
message, then with a stolid face, "Right-o, miss," he replied and,
touching his cap, started the engine.

"How do you do, Miss Rowe? Is this the place where you are employed?"

Esther jumped, astonished at anyone's knowing her name. Then, seeing
who it was who had come up behind her, she smiled in recognition.

"Oh! Miss Paull! I had no idea."

It happened that Miss Paull was the one person at her hotel with whom
she had any extensive conversation. She was a tall and angular
Englishwoman, clad always in voluminous black, a wide-brimmed,
old-fashioned hat resting uneasily atop her mountain of snowy hair.

"Yes, that is the doctor's house," added Esther in reply to her
acquaintance's question. "I'm just off for the day."

"Shall we walk along together then?" suggested the other, slightly
modifying her tremendous strides. In spite of her elderly and quaint
appearance--rather in the style of an ancient Du Maurier drawing--the
lady was a tireless pedestrian, covering miles daily, armed with an
umbrella, a water-colour box, and a folding cam