er thrown-back head against his arm stayed in his
mind, a very warm memory. Poor little girl, it must have been horrible
for her to have come in from the gay placidness of her own life and
thoughts to the stark tragedy of Bridget Rendle's death.

He was very ignorant and very reverent in his thoughts about women. He
could imagine Joan's sweet, well-ordered life, the fragrance of youth
hung about his idea of her. Bridget Rendle had been a girl too, younger
perhaps than the other one; but Bridget had dipped into the waters of
life, and sorrow and sin had closed over her. The two girls were as far
apart as the poles, it seemed almost irreverent to think of them in the
same breath.

Aunt Janet met him in the hall when she heard of his arrival.

"I have not told my niece about sending for you," she said; "it might
only make her nervous. I am very alarmed about her, Dr. Grant. She has
been home now three weeks and she is really not at all like herself.
Then that faint last night. I am afraid of fainting-fits; my mother, I
may as well tell you, died very suddenly from a heart-attack."

"It is not likely to be anything of that sort," he told her.
"Yesterday's tragedy was quite sufficient to upset very strong nerves."

"I hope not," Aunt Janet agreed; "anyway, I shall feel happier once you
have seen her. Will you come this way?"

She led him through the house to a room on the other side of the
drawing-room which had been fitted up as a special sanctum for Joan
since her return from London.

"I am nervous," she admitted to the doctor with her hand on the
door-knob, "she will perhaps be annoyed at my having sent for you." Then
she opened the door and they passed in.

Joan was sitting in the far corner near the open window, a book on her
lap. But she was not pretending to read; Dick could have sworn that she
had been crying as they came in. As she saw her aunt was not alone she
stood up quickly and the book fell unheeded to the floor.

"This is the doctor, dear," Aunt Janet began nervously. "I asked him to
call and see you. You need a tonic, I am sure you do."

"You sent for him," whispered Joan. Dick felt horribly uncomfortable; it
was impossible not to sense the tragedy which hung heavy in the air.
"Why, oh why, have you done that, Aunt Janet?"

"I was afraid," the other began; "last night you----" Rather waveringly
she came to a full stop, staring at Joan.

The girl had drawn herself up to her full height. She faced