se when he was ready to devour her hand
with kisses. The consequence of this change was that he seldom saw her
alone: he had less opportunity than ever of winning her affection, and
he was tormented by thinking that if she became cured of her eccentric
fancy, it would be to marry Clifton.

The doctor was a man of expedients. One evening, when on the shore
with Miss Lafitte at a little distance from a party of gay companions,
he spied one of those flat-bottomed boats which are a feature of the
place, and invited her to enter. Without a word he sent the tiny craft
far over the water, out of hearing, almost out of sight, when, resting
on his oars, he began: "I am glad to see you have entirely given up
your faith in premonitions, Miss Lafitte."

She was sitting, her hands lying idly in her lap, gazing dreamily at
the drifting clouds above. Without taking the trouble to change her
position, she asked, "How so?"

"You are in love with George Clifton."

"What an amount of penetration you have, Dr. Grey!"

"You are always with him."

"Why should I not be? he is the safest man I know."

"I hope your confidence is not misplaced." Maurice turned, and,
shading his face with his hand, looked at the setting sun, although he
would have required the eye of an eagle to enjoy its brilliancy. "She
acknowledges her preference," thought the young man bitterly, but in
the midst of the turmoil her words occasioned he heard her tranquilly
saying, "If I were with him a hundred years there would be no danger
of my falling in love with him."

Maurice gave a start that caused the water about the boat to dance,
but before he could enjoy in full the satisfaction of her last remark,
another fear suggested itself. "Perhaps you come with me for the same
reason," said he.

"You are my physician."

"I find to my cost that physicians are as capable of loving as other
men, but whether their love will be returned is another matter."

Emotion has its peculiar language. Though he strove to be calm, there
was a ring in his voice that was unusual, and Fay could not but notice
it. "Are you in love, doctor?" she asked gently. "I might help you if
I knew with whom it is. Could you tell me?"

Was it worth while to reply to so unconscious, so friendly, a question
by the truth? Why ask? What man, having gone so far, would be content
to stop? Letting his eyes speak for him, he met her innocent
questioning look by a long imploring gaze as he whispered, "