mour
for work had left him. Why had she not been up to time? He tapped his
delicate fingers impatiently on the table, and drew down his thick brows
over his sparkling eyes. But directly the door moved, his expression of
serenity returned, and when a tall woman came in, he was standing up and
gravely smiling.

"I'm afraid I am late."

The door shut on Henry.

"You are twenty minutes late."

"I'm so sorry."

The rather dawdling tones of the voice denied the truth of the words,
and the busy Doctor was conscious of a slight sensation of hostility.

"Please sit down here," he said, "and tell me why you come to consult
me."

Mrs. Chepstow sat down in the chair he showed her. Her movements were
rather slow and careless, like the movements of a person who is quite
alone and has nothing to do. They suggested to the watching man vistas
of empty hours--how different from his own! She settled herself in her
chair, leaning back. One of her hands rested on the handle of a parasol
she carried. The other held lightly an arm of the chair. Her height was
remarkable, and was made the more apparent by her small waist, and by
the small size of her beautifully shaped head, which was poised on a
long but exquisite neck. Her whole outline announced her gentle
breeding. The most lovely woman of the people could never be shaped
quite like that. As Doctor Isaacson realised this, he felt a sudden
difficulty in connecting with the woman before him her notorious career.
Surely pride must be a dweller in a body so expressive of race!

He thought of the very young men, almost boys, with whom Mrs. Chepstow
was seen about. Was it possible?

Her eyes met his, and in her face he saw a subtle contradiction of the
meaning her form seemed eloquently to indicate.

It was possible.

Almost before he had time to say this to himself, Mrs. Chepstow's face
had changed, suddenly accorded more definitely with her body.

"What a clever woman!" the Doctor thought.

With an almost sharp movement he sat forward in his chair, braced up,
alert, vital. His irritation was gone with the fatigue engendered by the
day's work. Interest in life tingled through his veins. His day was not
to be wholly dull. His thought of the morning, when he had looked at the
patients' book, was not an error of the mind.

"You came to consult me because--?"

"I don't know that I am ill," Mrs. Chepstow said, very composedly.

"Let us hope not."

"Do you think I look ill?"