“Aren't you glad for her?” asked Bonnell with a slight smile of curiosity into the disturbed face. “I ought to have told you at first that osteopathy did it; then after your joy had subsided, break the truth gently.” “Of course I'm glad,” returned the other stiffly, “but I'd rather Eloise did not hear of it at once.” “May I know why?” “Certainly. We have a very dear friend who is a physician. It looks very much as if he might be something nearer than a friend. It is he with whom Eloise is riding this afternoon. It is very distasteful, naturally, to have these alleged cures discussed in our family. We have had some annoyance in that line already. You can understand how doctors must feel.” “Yes, so long as they believe a cure to be only alleged; but where one is convinced that previously hopeless conditions have been healed, and it does happen once in a while, they are glad of it, I'm confident. We haven't a finer, broader minded class of men in our country than our physicians.” “I think so,” agreed Mrs. Evringham, drawing herself up with a fleeting vision of the Ballard place on Mountain Avenue. “But they are not the wealthiest at the start,” said Nat. “Is it possible that you are allowing Eloise to ride unchaperoned with a young physician?” Mrs. Evringham did not remark the threatening curves at the corners of the speaker's lips. “Oh, this one is different,” she returned seriously; “very fine connections, and substantial in _every_ way.” Her companion threw back his head and laughed frankly. “We have to smile at each other once in a while, don't we, Mrs. Evringham?” he said, in the light, caressing manner which had for a few years been one of her chief worries; “but all the same, you're fond of me just as long as I don't forget my place, eh? You're glad to see me?” “You know I am.” Mrs. Evringham pressed her hand against the laces over her heart. “Such a bittersweet feeling comes over me at the very tones of your voice. Oh, the happy past, Nat! Gone forever!” She touched a dainty handkerchief to her eyes. “I suppose your mother is still in her apartment?” “She has taken a place at View Point for the summer, and has set her heart on a long visit from you.” “How very kind of her,” responded Mrs. Evringham with genuine gratitude. “I don't know what father means to do in the hot weather or whether he--or whether I should wish to go with him. Your mother and I always enjoyed each other, when she was sufficiently free from suffering.” “That time is always now,” returned Nat, a fullness of gratitude in his voice. His companion looked at him curiously. “I can't realize it.” “Come and see,” was his reply. “I will, I certainly will. I shall anticipate it with great pleasure.” A very convenient place to prepare a part of Eloise's trousseau, Mrs. Evringham was considering, and the girl safely engaged, Nat's presence would have no terrors. “You think you are really getting into a good business arrangement now?” she asked aloud.