what sparsely furnished, containing but the necessary
furniture; no draperies at the open windows, few articles on the high old
mahogany bureau, an inadequate number of nearly threadbare rugs on the
waxed floor, and but three pictures on the walls. She studied these
pictures, one after another. One was a little framed photograph of
Burns's father and mother, taken sitting together on their vine-covered
porch. One was a colour drawing of a scene in Edinburgh, showing a view
of Princes Street and the Castle,--one which must have become familiar to
him from a residence of some length during the period of his studies
abroad. The third picture--it surprised and touched her not a little to
find it here--was a fine copy of a famous painting, showing the Christ
bending above the couch of a sick man and extending to him his healing
touch. The face was one of the best modern conceptions of the Divine
personality. She realized that the picture might have meant much to him.

She could hear his voice, as she set about her dressing. He was in his
private office, talking with a patient whose deafness caused him to raise
his own tones considerably; the closed door between could not keep out
all the sound. She felt her invasion of his life more keenly than ever
as she realized afresh how close to him her own life was to be lived.
Marrying a village doctor, whose home contained also his place of
business, was a very different matter from marrying a city physician with
a downtown office and a home into which only the telephone ever brought
the voice of a patient. It was to be a new and strange experience for
them both.

She sat before the dressing-table, having slipped into a little lilac and
white negligee. The half-curling masses of her black hair covered her
shoulders as she brushed them out--slowly, because she was thinking so
busily about it all, and had forgotten to make haste. Suddenly the door
leading into the office flew open--and closed as quickly. Steps behind
her, pausing, made her turn, to meet her husband's eyes.

He came close. An unmistakably "doctorish" odour accompanied him--an
odour not disagreeable but associated with modern means for securing
perfect cleanliness. He wore his white jacket, fresh from Cynthia's
painstaking hands. His eyes were very bright, his lips were smiling.

His arms came about her from behind, his head against hers gently forced
it back to face the mirror. In it the two pairs of eyes met again,