make enemies, according to your own account," he
concluded significantly. "What do you think of her, Miss Petterick?"
he added, by way of giving a pleasanter turn to the conversation. He
and his patient always addressed each other with much formality. Beth
asked him once in private why he was so stiff with Bertha, and he
explained that he thought it wiser, as a medical man, not to be at all
familiar; formality helped to keep up his authority.

"I have had no opportunity of thinking anything about her," Bertha
rejoined. "She has never spoken to me. I have heard her speak, though,
and like her voice. It's so cooing. She makes me think of a dove."

"And I shouldn't be surprised to find," said Beth, with cruel insight,
"that, like the dove, she conceals a villainous disposition and
murderous proclivities by charms of manner and a winning voice. What
are you going to do this afternoon, Bertha?"

Bertha glanced at Dan. "I am going to read 'The Moonstone' out in the
garden the whole afternoon," she replied.

"Then you won't mind if I disappear till tea-time?" said Beth. "I want
to do some work upstairs."

"No, I would rather be alone," Bertha answered frankly. "That book's
entrancing."

"I shall go round on foot this afternoon, for exercise," Dan announced
as he left the room.

Beth saw Bertha settled on a seat in the garden, and then retired to
her secret chamber. She had not yet come to any conclusion with regard
to Mrs. Kilroy's invitation, and she felt it was time she decided. She
took her sewing, her accustomed aid to thought, and sat down on a high
chair near the window. She always sat on a high chair, that she might
not be enervated by lolling; that was one of her patient methods of
self-discipline; and while she meditated, she did quantities of work
for herself, making, mending, remodelling, that she might get all the
wear possible out of her clothes, and not add a penny she could help
to those terrible debts, the thought of which had weighed on her
youth, and threatened to crush all the spirit out of her ever since
her marriage. Dan had never considered her too young to be worried.

From where she sat she could see Bertha on a seat just below, with
"The Moonstone" on her lap, but Bertha could not see her because of
the curtain of creepers that covered the iron rail which formed a
little balcony round the window. Besides, it was supposed that that
was a blank window. It was the only one on that side of the ho