Colonel was smoking contentedly on
the bench outside the door.

"Ah, Louise," he said, "you have missed your friend the Doctor you were
so full of when you wrote to me. He seemed to want to see you--I suppose
to have a crack about some of your patients; so I asked him to come and
dine this evening."

No escape now! Louise bit her lip, and proceeded to arrange her berries.

"He seems an intelligent young man," the Colonel went on; "rather
good-looking, if he had a drill-sergeant to teach him to hold himself
up; and I hear he doesn't drink, which can't often be said of these
dispensary doctors."

The red deepened in the girl's face. How could she ever say, "This is
the man I have promised to marry?" With much uneasiness she looked
forward to dinner-time. Dr. Quin sent no apology; nay, was worse than
punctual. He came in rather shyly, looking awkward in a new and
ill-fitting evening suit, for which he had put aside his usual rough
homespun. Louise, furious with herself for having blushed as he
appeared, gave him a cold and formal reception.

Dinner began uncomfortably for all three, as the Colonel, who had
trusted to his sister to entertain their guest, found himself obliged to
exert his own powers of conversation. The Doctor's discomfort was
intensified by what seemed to one of his simple habits the unusual
variety of courses and dishes. His fish-knife embarrassed him; he waited
to use fork or spoon until he had watched to see which implement was
preferred by his host. He chose "sherry wine" as a beverage; and left a
portion of each viand on his plate, in the groundless fear that if he
finished it he would be pressed to take a further supply. When dessert
was at last on the table, he felt more at ease; his host's genial manner
gave him confidence; and he was led on to talk of his work and prospects
at Cloon, of the long drives over the "mountainy roads," and the often
imaginary ailments of the patients who demanded his attendance, and
their proneness when really ill to take the advice of priest or
passer-by on sanitary matters rather than his own. "But I'll get out of
it, I hope, some day," he said, looking at Louise; "when I get a few
more paying patients and the infirmary, I can give up the dispensary."

Louise listened, dismayed. It was the thought of succouring the poor and
destitute that had led her to make the resolve of marrying their
physician; and he now dreamed of giving up his mission amongst them! He,