It was the second week after his reinstatement that he came up to the office one day and unexpectedly encountered Nance Molloy. At first he did not recognize the tall young lady in the well-cut brown suit with the bit of fur at the neck and wrists and the jaunty brown hat with its dash of gold. Then she looked up, and it was Nance's old smile that flashed out at him, and Nance's old impulsive self that turned to greet him. For one radiant moment all that had happened since they last stood there was swept out of the memory of each; then it came back; and they shook hands awkwardly and could find little to say to each other in the presence of the strange stenographer who occupied Nance's old place at the desk by the window. "They told me you weren't working here," said Dan at length. "I'm not. I've just come on an errand for Mrs. Clarke." Dan's eyes searched hers in swift inquiry. "I'm a trained nurse now," she said, determined to take the situation lightly. "You remember how crazy I used to be about doping people?" He did not answer, and she hurried on as if afraid of any silence that might fall between them. "It all started with the smallpox in Calvary Alley. Been back there, Dan?" "Not yet." "Lots of changes since the old days. Mr. Snawdor and Fidy and Mrs. Smelts and Mr. Demry all gone. Have you heard about Mr. Demry?" Dan shook his head. He was not listening to her, but he was looking at her searchingly, broodingly, with growing insistence. The hammering of the type-writer was the only sound that broke the ensuing pause. "Tell me your news, Dan," said Nance in desperation. "Where you living now?" "At Mrs. Purdy's. She's going to take care of Ted for me." "Ted? Oh! I forgot. How old is he now?" For the first time Dan's face lit up with his fine, rare smile. "He's four, Nance, and the smartest kid that ever lived! You'd be crazy about him, I know. I wonder if you couldn't go out there some day and see him?" Nance showed no enthusiasm over the suggestion; instead she gathered up her muff and gloves and, leaving a message for Mr. Clarke with the stenographer, prepared to depart. "I am thinking about going away," she said. "I may go out to California next week." The brief enthusiasm died out of Dan's face. "What's taking you to California?" he asked dully, as he followed her into the hall. "I may go with a patient. Have you heard of the trouble they're in at the Clarkes'?" "No." "It's Mr. Mac. He's got tuberculosis, and they are taking him out to the coast for a year. They want me to go along." Dan's face hardened. "So it's Mac Clarke still?" he asked bitterly. His tone stung Nance to the quick, and she wheeled on him indignantly. "See here, Dan! I've got to put you straight on a thing or two. Where can we go to have this business out?" He led her across the hall to his own small office and closed the door.