charmed. It is a delightful day, is it not? Reminds one of Barbadoes."

"I have never been in Barbadoes," said Maurice, toward whom her languid gaze was directed. "But Dr. Etwald may be able to answer your question, Mrs. Dallas."

"I know the West Indian islands," observed Etwald as they walked into the house, "and this day does remind me a little of the climate there; but it is scarcely hot enough."

"No," murmured Mrs. Dallas, sinking into a large chair. "You are right. I have been in the sun all the morning, and only now am I beginning to feel warm, I shall certainly go back to Barbadoes."

Mrs. Dallas had made this threat so many times that nobody paid any attention to it, and, not expecting an answer, she began to fan herself slowly. Through her half-closed eyes she looked anxiously at the subtle face of Etwald. With the instinct of a woman she guessed that something important had brought the doctor to see her; he was not a man to waste his time on visits of ceremony.

Now Mrs. Dallas was secretly afraid of Etwald, as she had received hints from Dido, in whose truth she implicitly believed--that the doctor knew more about secret things than most people. She dreaded lest his visit should portend harm, and so, in some trepidation, she waited for him to speak. But Etwald, guessing her frame of mind, took his time and it was only when Isabella approached with some tea for her mother that he broke the silence.

"Don't go away, Miss Dallas," he said, entreatingly. "I have something to say to your mother which concerns you."

Isabella turned pale, for she guessed what was coming. As Etwald had raised his voice purposely, Maurice, who was standing by the tea-table, also pricked up his ears. Mrs. Dallas, with some curiosity, raised herself to look closer at Etwald and he, seeing that his auditory was attentive, prepared to launch his thunderbolt.

"My dear Mrs. Dallas," he said, in a soft voice, "you must have seen for a long time that my visits here have not been made without an object. To-day I come to ask you and your sweet daughter a question."

"What is it?" asked the mother, devoured by curiosity.

"Pray don't ask it," said Isabella, better informed by Etwald's glance as to his purpose. "It will only give you pain."

"I must risk that," 

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