"Certainly," he said.  "If you think you can get on without me—I will retire," and lifting his bare feet mincingly, he tiptoed away. Miss Forbes looked after him with an expression of relief, of repulsion, of great pity. 

 The owner of the car glanced at the young man with the stern face, and raised his eyebrows interrogatively. 

 The young man had taken the revolver from the limp fingers of the burglar and was holding it in his hand. Winthrop gave what was half a laugh and half a sigh of compassion. 

 "So, that's Carey?" he said. 

 There was a sudden silence. The young man with the stern face made no answer. His head was bent over the revolver. He broke it open, and spilled the cartridges into his palm. Still he made no answer. When he raised his head, his eyes were no longer stern, but wistful, and filled with an inexpressible loneliness. 

 "No, I am Carey," he said. 

 The one who had blundered stood helpless, tongue-tied, with no presence of mind beyond knowing that to explain would offend further. 

 The other seemed to feel for him more than for himself. In a voice low and peculiarly appealing, he continued hurriedly. 

 "He is my doctor," he said.  "He is a young man, and he has not had many advantages—his manner is not—I find we do not get on together. I have asked them to send me some one else." He stopped suddenly, and stood unhappily silent. The knowledge that the strangers were acquainted with his story seemed to rob him of his earlier confidence. He made an uncertain movement as though to relieve them of his presence. 

 Miss Forbes stepped toward him eagerly. 

 "You told me I might wait in the library," she said.  "Will you take me there?" 

 For a moment the man did not move, but stood looking at the young and beautiful girl, who, with a smile, hid the compassion in her eyes. 

 

 "Will you go?" he asked wistfully. 

 "Why not?" said the girl. 

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