. But even if... In that case...." She now saw her
fervent hope had been that the affair would blow over without coming to
anything; prove to be just another passing fancy on the part of the
unstable Purdy. How many had she not assisted at! This very summer, for
instance, a charming young lady from Sydney had stayed with the
Urquharts; and, as long as her visit lasted, they had seen little or
nothing of Purdy. Whenever he got off duty he was at Yarangobilly. As
it happened, however, Mr. Urquhart himself had been so assiduous in
taking his guest about that Purdy had had small chance of making an
impression. And, in looking back on the incident, what now rose most
clearly before Mary's mind was the way in which Mrs. Urquhart--poor
thing, she was never able to go anywhere with her husband: either she
had a child in arms or another coming; the row of toddlers mounted up
in steps--the way in which she had said, with her pathetic smile: "Ah,
my dear! Willie needs some one gayer and stronger than I am, for
company." Mary's heart had been full of pity at the time, for her
friend's lot; and it swelled again now at the remembrance.

But oh dear! this was straying from the point. Impatiently she jerked
her thoughts back to herself and her own dilemma. What ought she to do?
She was not a person who could sit still with folded hands and await
events. How would it be if she spoke to Purdy herself? ... talked
seriously to him about his work? ... tried to persuade him to leave
Ballarat. Did he mean to hang on here for ever, she would say--never
intend to seek promotion? But then again, the mere questioning would
cause a certain awkwardness. While, at the slightest trip or blunder on
her part, what was unsaid might suddenly find itself said; and the
whole thing cease to be the vague, cloudy affair it was at present. And
though she would actually rather this happened with regard to Purdy
than Richard, yet ... yet....

Worried and perplexed, unable to see before her the straight plain path
she loved, Mary once more sighed from the bottom of her heart.

"Oh if ONLY men wouldn't be so foolish!"

Left to himself Mahony put away his books, washed his hands and
summoned one by one to his presence the people who waited in the
adjoining room. He drew a tooth, dressed a wounded wrist, prescribed
for divers internal disorders--all told, a baker's dozen of odd jobs.

When the last patient had gone he propped open the door, wiped his
forehead