For a moment there was silence. Then Allen Parker saw something he had never before seen in his wife's face for him or his work--a look of complete disgust. "I wouldn't have believed you capable of doing anything so ... so horrid!" she said coldly. "How could you?" "I don't know!" His arms, which had been ready to take her to him for comfort, dropped. "The work has been ... difficult, lately. As though something were pulling at my mind. But not like this! It isn't _me_!" "It must be you, since it came out of you!" She turned away and moved restlessly to one of the windows. "Through me!" muttered Parker. "Ideas _come_!" "You'll have to do something!" "But what? I don't know what to do!" "Why not go to see that new doctor?" asked Betty, over her shoulder. "Dr. Friedrich von Stein?" "Von Stein?" repeated Parker, vaguely. "Don't know him. Anyhow, I don't need a doctor. What in the world made you think of that?" * * * * * "Nothing, except that I can see his house from here. He's taken what they call 'the old Reynolds place.' You know--opposite the church. We looked at it and thought it was too large for us. He's made a lot of alterations." "Oh, yes!" Parker had placed the newcomer, more recent than himself. "I had an idea that he was a doctor of philosophy, not medicine." "He has half a dozen degrees, they say. Certainly he's a stunning looking man. I saw him on the street." "Maybe he doesn't practice." The artist was gazing, baffled and sick at heart, upon what he had wrought. "And what could he do, unless it's my liver?" "He might be a psycho-analyst, or something like that," she replied, slowly. "But why the wild interest in this particular doctor?" Parker roused himself and looked at her. He felt irritable, and was ashamed of it. "Only for your work," said Betty. A faint pink touched her cheeks. Allen Parker had a sudden feeling of certainty that his wife was lying to him. To one who knew the Parkers it would have been equally impossible to think of Betty as lying, or of her husband as believing such a thing. Parker was outraged by his own suspicion. He sprang up and began to pace the floor. "All right, then!" he exploded. "My work is going to the dogs! Why, there's an appointment with Cartwright to-morrow to show him these sketches, and the last few chapters I've done! We'll go now! If this man can't do anything for me I'll try somebody else!" * * * * * In ten minutes they were walking up the quiet street toward the present home of Dr. Friedrich von Stein. Despite his self-absorption Parker could not help noticing that his wife had never looked more attractive than she did at this moment. Her color had deepened, little wisps of hair curled against her cheeks, and there was a sparkle in her eyes which he knew came only on very particular occasions.