It had been Spring when Dr. Crossett landed in America; it was now Summer, and, as his taxi ran smoothly up Fifth Avenue to the Park, the boarded-up fronts of the houses suggested to him a plan for forcing a brief extension of his vacation and spending a week or two with Lola and her father at some of the famous American watering-places of which he had often heard. His own splendid health and superb vitality he owed, in part, to his habit of allowing himself frequent intervals of mental rest and outdoor exercise, and as he thought of how Lola would be benefited by a change from the hot, stale air of the city to some beautiful seashore or mountain resort, he smiled to himself happily. The cab stopped, and as he got out and turned to pay the driver he noticed with surprised approval the unbroken row of stately apartment houses facing the green of Riverside Park and the wide expanse of the Hudson. His old friend was growing wise he thought to himself; here at least were grass, and trees, and fresh air. Maria admitted him, and showing him through a wide foyer-hall into a pretty and well-furnished parlor, turned to leave him, but he called her back anxiously. "Miss Lola! Tell me, Maria?" There was just a trace of hesitation as she answered. "Very well, I think, sir. I never saw her looking better in my life." "Good! Good! Ah! The times, they have changed," and he looked around the daintily furnished apartment smilingly. "It is not as it was two months ago." "No, sir." "You also," as he noticed her neat black dress and white cap and apron; "you are a very pretty girl, Maria." "Thank you, sir." "Do not thank me," he replied with a chuckle. "I share in the pleasure it causes you. Now, Maria, don't blush. I am old enough to be your father, and I like you because you are good to those two who are so dear to me. I am happy to see all these signs of prosperity. The Doctor's practice must have increased?" "I don't think so, sir," said Maria. "No patients ever come here, leastways none but the poor ones who don't pay nothin'." "So? And yet he has not given the news of his discovery to the world. I do not comprehend." Maria hesitated for a moment, then faced him anxiously as though to say something, but after a moment's pause she recovered herself and said respectfully: "The Doctor is out, sir. Miss Lola is dressing. She will be here in a moment." "I am in no hurry," he replied, "now that you tell me that all is well here. I am content to share in the happiness of my friend. His daughter well; a fine home; one could not hope for this two months ago! Poverty, death! Pish!" and he snapped his fingers contemptuously. "They are gone! It is indeed the age of miracles." "Coming back like she did, sir," retorted Maria, "after everyone thought she was dead, ain't a thing that does a body any good! You couldn't expect her to be quite so happy and so sweet as she used to be, could you, Doctor?"