ha
Sprowl until neither he nor the shameless beauty knew whether they were
standing on their heads or their heels. To be in love was a new
sensation to Agatha Sprowl; to believe himself in love was nothing new
to Coursay, but the flavor never palled.

What they might have done--what, perhaps, they had already decided to
do--nobody but they knew. The chances are that they would have bolted if
they had not run smack into that rigid sentinel who guards the pathway
of life. The sentinel is called Fate. And it came about in the following
manner:

Dr. Courtney Thayer arrived one cool day early in October; Lansing met
him with a quiet smile, and, together, these eminent gentlemen entered
rooms 5 and 6.

A few moments later Courtney Thayer came out, laughing, followed by
Lansing, who also appeared to be a prey to mirth.

"She's charming--she's perfectly charming!" said Courtney Thayer. "Where
the deuce do these Yankee convent people get that elusive Continental
flavor? Her father must have been a gentleman."

"He was an Irish lumberman," said Lansing. After a moment he added: "So
you won't come back, doctor?"

"No, it's not necessary; you know that. I've an operation to-morrow in
Manhattan; I must get back to town. Wish I could stay and shoot grouse
with you, but I can't."

"Come up for the fall flight of woodcock; I'll wire you when it's on,"
urged Lansing.

"Perhaps; good-bye."

Lansing took his outstretched hand in both of his. "There is no use in
my trying to tell you what you have done for me, doctor," he said.

Thayer regarded him keenly. "Thought I did it for _her_," he remarked.

Instantly Lansing's face turned red-hot. Thayer clasped the young man's
hands and shook them till they ached.

"You're all right, my boy--you're all right!" he said, heartily; and was
gone down the stairs, two at a jump--a rather lively proceeding for the
famous and dignified Courtney Thayer.

Lansing turned and entered rooms 5 and 6. His patient was standing by
the curtained window. "Do you want to know your fate?" he asked,
lightly.

She turned and looked at him out of her lovely eyes; the quaint,
listening expression in her face still remained, but she _saw_ him, this
time.

"Am I well?" she asked, calmly.

"Yes; ... perfectly."

She sat down by the window, her slender hands folded, her eyes on him.

"And now," she asked, "what am I to do?"

He understood, and bent his head. He had an answer ready, trembling on
his