e sentence, with "and one or two others to sit by me and
cheer me up; that's better than all the doctors in the world. And now,
first about your father and then about yourself."

"Oh, he's very well," she rejoined absently. "He's off somewhere, went
away two days ago. He'll be back in a week. But you must have something
to eat--GOOD things!"--her mind still occupied with his condition. "I'm
going to have some chicken broth made the moment I get home and it will
be sent fresh every day: and you must eat every bit of it!"

Again St. George's laugh rang out. He had let her run on--it was music
to his ears--that he might later on find some clue on which he could
frame a question he had been revolving in his mind ever since he heard
her voice in the hall. He would not tell her about Harry--better wait
until he could read her thoughts the clearer. If he could discover by
some roundabout way that she would still refuse to see him it would be
best not to embarrass her with any such request; especially on this her
first visit.

"Yes--I'll eat anything and everything you send me, you dear Kate--and
many thanks to you, provided you'll come with it--you are the best broth
for me. But you haven't answered my question--not all of it. What have
YOU been doing since I left?"

"Wondering whether you would forgive me for the rude way in which I left
you the last time I saw you,--the night of Mr. Horn's reading, for one
thing. I went off with Mr. Willits and never said a word to you. I wrote
you a letter telling you how sorry I was, but you never answered it, and
that made me more anxious than ever."

"What foolishness, Kate! I never got it, of course, or you would have
heard from me right away. A number of my letters have gone astray of
late. But I don't remember a thing about it, except that you walked off
with your--" again he hesitated--"with Mr. Willits, which, of course,
was the most natural thing for you to do in the world. How is he, by the
way?"

Kate drew back her shoulders with that quick movement common to her when
some antagonism in her mind preceded her spoken word.

"I don't know--I haven't seen him for some weeks."

St. George started in his chair: "You haven't! He isn't ill, is he?"

"No, I think not," she rejoined calmly.

"Oh, then he has gone down to his father's. Yes, I remember he goes
quite often," he ventured.

"No, I think he is still here." Her gaze was on the window as she spoke,
through which could