He was not only a skilful practitioner, but he knew the value of a patient like Mrs. J. Bruce-Horton, and when he had such an one on the road to recovery he was willing to humor her whims as much as the occasion permitted. As he walked toward the lake, down the graveled path so exquisitely bordered on either side with fragrant flowers, which were watered by frequent whirlabout fountains, each throwing its refreshing spray far over the lawn, a feeling of satisfaction at his professional success, and of complete contentment with the whole world, elated him. This feeling might have been continued indefinitely but for a single incident—a fate-like incident—that changed the story of his life. As he came to a turn in the path he found Ethel reclining on a rustic seat and looking out over the blue waters of the lake. “I am not a highwayman,” said Ethel, jestingly, “but nevertheless I mean to waylay you.” “Indeed!” said Jack, inquiringly. “Yes, I wanted to ask you about dear mamma. You do not think she is dangerously ill, do you?” “By no means,” replied Doctor Redfield, reassuringly, “her indisposition is rapidly giving way to my treatment, and I think that within a week she will have quite recovered.” “Oh, thank you, doctor, I have been so worried about her.” “With the assurance that I have given, you may cease worrying entirely,” said Jack as he turned to leave her. “Why are you in such haste to go?” asked Ethel, coquettishly. “I am not particularly in haste,” replied Jack, “but perhaps I interrupt your reverie.” “Yes, but I want to be interrupted,” returned Ethel, laughingly. “Very well,” said Jack, seating himself near her. Jack Redfield was anything but a Beau Brummel. The idea of yielding himself to maiden sovereignty had never occurred to him. Indeed, his lack of homage to woman might almost have been interpreted as a poverty of gallantry. Nevertheless, in the few days that he had been making professional calls on her mother, he had awakened to a knowledge of the feet that Miss Ethel interested him, to say the least. There was a wild dash of independence and of frankness about her that possessed a charm for him which he was unable to analyze. As Jack looked out over the lake he was conscious that Ethel was studying him closely. Presently she said, “I cannot make myself believe that you are a physician.” “Indeed, why not?” interrogated Jack, much amused by her frankness. “You evidently expected me to perform a miracle in your mother’s case, and, as I have failed to do so, you judge me harshly.” “Oh, no! not that,” protested Ethel, “but then, I always fancied that doctors, who give bitter medicine, cut up people and saw bones, should be old and grim. Now, you don’t look like a doctor at all to me.” “Well, as I have to make my living in the uncanny way that you have described, I must say that I am glad every one does not share your hasty judgment of me.”