does he look?"

Ann's small hands made an expressive gesture which seemed to envisage
something long and lean.

"Queer--like that. He's not old, but he's bald. His eyes screw into you.
His nose," another formative gesture, "is like that. A nawful big nose.
He didn't tell his name."

"If he looks like that, perhaps he hasn't any name. Perhaps he is a
button-moulder. In fact I'm almost certain he is--other name Willits.
Occupation, professor."

"But if he is a button-maker, he can't be a professor," said Ann
shrewdly.

"Oh, yes he can. Button-moulding is what he professes. His line is a
specialty in spoiled buttons. He makes them over."

"Second-hand?"

"Better than new."

Ann fidgeted idly with the doctor's cuff-links and then with a flash of
her odd childish comprehension, "You love him a lot, don't you?" she
said jealously.

The doctor adjusted a collar button.

"England expects that every man shall deny the charge of loving
another," he said, "but between you and me, I do rather like old
Willits. You see I was rather a worn-out button once and he made me
over. Where did you say he was?"

"In the parlour--there's Aunt! She said I wasn't to stay. I'll get it."

Indeed the voice of Mrs. Sykes could be heard on the stairs.

"Ann! Where's that child? Doctor, you'd think that child had never been
taught no manners. You'll have to take a firm stand with Ann, Doctor.
Land Sakes, I don't want to make her out worse'n she is, but you might
as well know that your life won't be worth living if you don't set
on Ann."

"All right, Mrs. Sykes. Painful as it may be, I shall do it. Are you
sure it's safe to leave a stranger in the parlour?"

Mrs. Sykes looked worried. "I hope to goodness it's all right, Doctor.
He's been in the parlour half an hour. I don't think he's an agent,
hasn't got a case or a book anywhere. But agents are getting cuter every
day. Naturally I didn't like to go so far as to ask his name. And I'm
not asking it now. Curiosity was never a fault of mine though I do say
it. Still a woman does like to know who's setting in her front parlour."

"And you shall," declared Callandar kindly. "Just hang on a few moments
longer, dear Mrs. Sykes, and your non-existent but very justifiable
curiosity shall be satisfied."

The parlour at Mrs. Sykes opened to the right of the narrow hall. Its
two windows, distinguished by eternally half-drawn blinds of yellow,
looked out upon the veranda, permitting a decoro