risly spectacle, so it did
not matter.

The unexpected encounter was deeply disturbing to her. There stirred in
her the memory of another night when she had similarly met the slum
doctor in this room, between engagements with Hugo Canning. That night
he had asked her forgiveness for calling her a poor little thing, which
she was, and she had charged him with wicked untruthfulness for calling
the Works homicidal, which--she said it in her secret heart--they
were.... How history repeats itself, how time brought changed angles!
Strange, strange, that in the revolving months it had now come her turn
to apologize to Mr. V.V. in the Cooney parlor. Only she could not make
her apology, no matter how much she might want to....

"... Stop a minute," Hen was heard to say, "and pass the time of
day ..."

Unintelligible murmuring, and then: "D'you know who it was that invented
stopping and passing the time of day?" said the nearing voice of Mr.
V.V., gayer than Cally Heth had ever heard it. "Take my word, 't was
a woman."

"To make things pleasant for some man!--and we've been doing it ever
since.... Cally Heth's here ..."

The two came in. Cally, turning, held out her hand to the Cooneys'
physician, with a sufficiently natural air and greeting....

They had not met since the afternoon at the Woman's Club, a day which
had brought a strange change in their relations. But then, each of their
meetings seemed marked by some such realignment, and always to his
advantage. Again and again she had put this man down, at first with all
her strength; and each time when she turned and looked at him again,
behold he had shot up higher than ever.

So Cally had just been thinking. But now that V. Vivian stood in the
room, and she looked at him, she was suddenly reminded that he was her
good friend nevertheless. And something like ease came back to her.

When Hen had disappeared to make the sick-room ready (or for whatever
purpose she went), Cally said:

"I hope Chas isn't really going to be ill?"

"Oh, there's no trouble at all with him," replied the young man, "but to
make him stay in bed. It's all come down to a touch of sore throat, a
little sort of quinsy. We were rather afraid of diphtheria, the
other night."

"My cousins are having more than their share, just now. So many, many
invalids.... I hope you've been well, since I saw you last?"

"Oh, thank you!--I've the health of a letter-carrier. At least, I assume
they're natural