en to see other girls. What do I want
with other girls? I want you!"

"I'm not worth all that."

"No girl's worth what I've been going through," he retorted bitterly.
"But that doesn't help any. I don't eat; I don't sleep--I'm afraid
sometimes of the way I feel. When I saw you at the White Springs with
that roomer chap--"

"Ah! You were there!"

"If I'd had a gun I'd have killed him. I thought--" So far, out of sheer
pity, she had left her hand in his. Now she drew it away.

"This is wild, silly talk. You'll be sorry to-morrow."

"It's the truth," doggedly.

But he made a clutch at his self-respect. He was acting like a crazy
boy, and he was a man, all of twenty-two!

"When are you going to the hospital?"

"To-morrow."

"Is that Wilson's hospital?"

"Yes."

Alas for his resolve! The red haze of jealousy came again. "You'll be
seeing him every day, I suppose."

"I dare say. I shall also be seeing twenty or thirty other doctors, and
a hundred or so men patients, not to mention visitors. Joe, you're not
rational."

"No," he said heavily, "I'm not. If it's got to be someone, Sidney, I'd
rather have it the roomer upstairs than Wilson. There's a lot of talk
about Wilson."

"It isn't necessary to malign my friends." He rose.

"I thought perhaps, since you are going away, you would let me keep
Reginald. He'd be something to remember you by."

"One would think I was about to die! I set Reginald free that day in the
country. I'm sorry, Joe. You'll come to see me now and then, won't you?"

"If I do, do you think you may change your mind?"

"I'm afraid not."

"I've got to fight this out alone, and the less I see of you the
better." But his next words belied his intention. "And Wilson had better
lookout. I'll be watching. If I see him playing any of his tricks around
you--well, he'd better look out!"

That, as it turned out, was Joe's farewell. He had reached the
breaking-point. He gave her a long look, blinked, and walked rapidly out
to the Street. Some of the dignity of his retreat was lost by the fact
that the cat followed him, close at his heels.

Sidney was hurt, greatly troubled. If this was love, she did not want
it--this strange compound of suspicion and despair, injured pride and
threats. Lovers in fiction were of two classes--the accepted ones, who
loved and trusted, and the rejected ones, who took themselves away in
despair, but at least took themselves away. The thought of a future
with Joe