't think she will ever go to him. She
thinks she will, but I have the feeling that she won't. However, be
calm. If you can, get her to go away."

"Would it be possible to lock her up in some sanatorium or asylum,
doctor, until she has had time to think?"

"All things are possible, but I should say it would be the most
inadvisable thing you could do. Force accomplishes nothing in these
cases."

"I know, but suppose she won't listen to reason?"

"You really haven't come to that bridge yet. You haven't talked calmly
to her yet. You are quarreling with her. There is very little in that.
You will simply grow further and further apart."

"How practical you are, doctor," observed Mrs. Dale, in a mollified and
complimentary vein.

"Not practical, but intuitional. If I were practical, I would never have
taken up medicine."

He walked to the door, his old body sinking in somewhat upon itself. His
old, gray eyes twinkled slightly as he turned.

"You were in love once, Mrs. Dale," he said.

"Yes," she replied.

"You remember how you felt then?"

"Yes."

"Be reasonable. Remember your own sensations--your own attitude. You
probably weren't crossed in your affair. She is. She has made a mistake.
Be patient. Be calm. We want to stop it and no doubt can. Do unto others
as you would be done by."

He ambled shufflingly across the piazza and down the wide steps to his
car.

"Mama," she said, when after Dr. Woolley had gone her mother came to her
room to see if she might not be in a mellower mood, and to plead with
her further for delay, "it seems to me you are making a ridiculous mess
of all this. Why should you go and tell Dr. Woolley about me! I will
never forgive you for that. Mama, you have done something I never
thought you would do. I thought you had more pride--more individuality."

One should have seen Suzanne, in her spacious boudoir, her back to her
oval mirrored dressing table, her face fronting her mother, to
understand her fascination for Eugene. It was a lovely, sunny, many
windowed chamber, and Suzanne in a white and blue morning dress was in
charming accord with the gay atmosphere of the room.

"Well, Suzanne, you know," she said, rather despondently, "I just
couldn't help it. I had to go to someone. I am quite alone apart from
you and Kinroy and the children"--she referred to Adele and Ninette as
the children when talking to either Suzanne or Kinroy--"and I didn't
want to say anything to them. You hav