The doctor assented, and Winifred rose and took a slip from the mantel. "'_There is an interesting old Chinese legend_,'" she read, "'_which relates how an angel sits with a long pole which he dips into the Sea of Love and lifts a drop of shining water. With an expert motion he turns one-half of this drop to the right, where it is immediately transformed into a soul; the other half to the left--a male and a female; and these two souls go seeking each other forever. The angel is so constantly occupied that he keeps no track of the souls that he separates, and they must depend upon their own intuition to recognize each other._'" The old man reached for the paper as Winifred ceased. She was silent as he glanced it over. "That old legend did not seem trite to her; it does not to me," said the girl, as the doctor looked up. "I asked her to leave it for me to copy." "And the woman?" reminded the doctor. "She stood before me, gaunt, unlovely, growing old. As I read her clipping she clasped her hands tensely. 'Don't you see why I don't marry him?' she cried, and all the romance and persistent hope of her lifetime came to her faded eyes. 'Because I want to find my other half. Because I want--Love.'" "She is all right, and I respect her," said the doctor. "Too many women sacrifice their personality in loveless marriages." "I am in doubt," speculated Winifred, "whether the women who lead colorless, unloved and unloving lives are not happier after all. They have fewer troubles. Men are very interesting, but they can make a woman's life so miserable, too." More than a hint of pathos in this, thought the listener. "How about a girl making a man miserable?" he inquired. "A girl who has love--deep, sincere love waiting her recognition?" The surgeon took the knife resolutely. "I don't know what you--I was speaking in general----" "Somewhere in the Bible, I think, somebody goes about seeking whom he may devour. Nowadays women go about looking for trouble. I've known that kind before, Winnie, but I never saw anyone fairly gallop after it as you do." "Why, doctor!" "My dear," the friend put his hand caressingly on her own, "why do you repulse Danvers' love? Do not be offended," he said gently, as she pulled away. She hid her face in her upturned hands. Suddenly it was sweet to feel the solicitude of a love so like what she had dreamed a father's might be. "I can see, dear child. I know Philip as I know my own heart. I think I know you (so far as a man can understand a woman)," he stroked her hair fondly, "and you are making a mistake." "No, I'm not," came in a whisper. "I--you don't know--about--Charlie----" Tears fell fast, relieving the suppressed anguish of weeks. "Oh, yes, I do." His words fell like balm. "Charlie has been so good to me all these years. I can't bear to see him--drift. You know--I can't say it----" "Don't say it," counseled the doctor. "I understand perfectly."