ident that she was deeply disappointed.
Loss of work meant loss of money, and it needed but a glance at her
rusty black dress to see that there was little margin for that.
Possibly, too, there was some special need to be met. Her manner seemed
almost to imply that there was. And at this point I had a brilliant
idea.

"I'm not sure that it can't be helped," said I.

She looked at me inquiringly, and I continued: "I am going to make a
proposition, and I shall ask you to consider it with an open mind."

"That sounds rather portentous," said she; "but I promise. What is it?"

"It is this: When I was a student I acquired the useful art of writing
shorthand. I am not a lightning reporter, you understand, but I can take
matter down from dictation at quite respectable speed."

"Yes."

"Well, I have several hours free every day--usually, the whole of the
afternoon up to six or half-past--and it occurs to me that if you were
to go to the Museum in the mornings you could get out your books, look
up passages (you could do that without using your right hand), and put
in book-marks. Then I could come along in the afternoon and you could
read out the selected passages to me, and I could take them down in
shorthand. We should get through as much in a couple of hours as you
could in a day using longhand."

"Oh, but how kind of you, Doctor Berkeley!" she exclaimed. "How very
kind! Of course, I couldn't think of taking up all your leisure in that
way; but I do appreciate your kindness very much."

I was rather chapfallen at this very definite refusal, but persisted
feebly:

"I wish you would. It may seem rather cheek for a comparative stranger
like me to make such a proposal to a lady; but if you'd been a man--in
these special circumstances--I should have made it all the same, and you
would have accepted as a matter of course."

"I doubt that. At any rate, I am not a man. I sometimes wish I were."

"Oh, I am sure you are much better as you are!" I exclaimed, with such
earnestness that we both laughed. And at this moment Mr. Bellingham
entered the room carrying several large and evidently 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