"Yes, but it's not worth your rates to have him psychoanalyzed. I can do as well myself."
"All right, Pat. I'll give you a sample analysis free," chuckled the Doctor, distributing his bulk comfortably on the davenport.
"I don't like free trials," she retorted. "I sent for a beauty-culture book once, on free trial. I was twelve years only, and returned it in seven days, but I'm still getting sales letters in the mails. I must be on every sucker list in the country."
"So that's the secret of your charm."
"What is?"
"You must have read the book, I mean. If you remember the title, I might try it myself. Think it'd help?"
"Dr. Carl," laughed the girl, "you don't need a book on beauty culture--you need one on bridge! It's that atrocious game you play that's bothering Mother."
"Indeed? I shouldn't be surprised if you were right; I've suspected that."
"Save your surprise for when I'm wrong, Doc. You'll suffer much less from shock."
"Confident little brat! You're apt to get that knocked out of you some day, though I hope you never do."
"I can take it," grinned Pat.
"No doubt you can, but you're an adept at handing it out. Where's this chap of yours?"
"He'll be along. No one's ever stood me up on a date yet."
"I can understand that, you imp! Is that the famous Nick?" he queried as a car purred to a stop beyond the windows.
"No one else!" said the girl, glancing out. "The Big Thrill in person." She darted to the door. Horker turned casually to watch her as she opened it, surveying Nicholas Devine with professional nonchalance. He entered, tall, slender, with his thin sensitive features sharply outlined in the light of the hall. He cast a quick glance toward the Doctor; the latter noted the curious amber-green eyes of the lad, set wide in the lean face, deep, speculative, the eyes of a dreamer.
"Evening, Nick," Pat was bubbling. The newcomer gave her a hasty smile, with another glance at the Doctor. "Don't mind Dr. Carl," she continued. "Aren't you going to kiss me? It irks the medico, and I never miss a chance."
Nicholas flushed in embarrassment; he gestured hesitantly, then placed a hasty peck of a kiss on the girl's forehead. He reddened again at the Doctor's rumble of "Young imp of Satan!"
"Not very good," said Pat reflectively, obviously enjoying the situation. "I've known you to do better." She pulled him toward the arch of the living room. "Come meet Dr. Horker. Dr. Carl, this is the aforesaid Nicholas Devine."
"Dr. Horker," repeated the lad, smiling diffidently. "You're the psychiatrist and brain specialist, aren't you, Sir?"
"So my patients believe," rumbled the massive Doctor, rising at the introduction, and grasping the youth's hand. "And you're the genius Patricia has been raving about. I'm glad to have the chance of looking you over."Nick gave 

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