"To-morrow night," replied the Doctor. "I have remedied the flaws in the construction of my apparatus, and Saturday Karn & Co. promised to deliver the new machine. They sent me a bill for eight hundred dollars. I"--he stopped, his face flushed with shame; then recovered himself with an effort--"I was unable to pay the amount, and they--they refused to give me credit." "But, Martin," Dr. Crossett spoke gravely, "your life's work was depending upon the delivery of your apparatus in time for demonstration to-morrow. Surely you should have set aside that sum, no matter what else you sacrificed." "I was selfish enough," replied the Doctor, "to want my mind freed of every care. I allowed Lola to persuade me to place all of the loan in her hands. She knew that this bill was coming. Saturday I--I asked her for the money, and--and she told me that it was gone." "She had spent it?" "Yes." "How?" The Doctor pointed, with a smile that almost brought the tears to his friend's eyes, to the expensive furniture and rather elaborate window hangings. "I--I blame myself," he said quickly, as if to prevent any critical mention of his daughter. "She is young, and she doesn't understand. I had grown used to trusting her with everything. Why, Paul! In these past years there have been times when I could not collect enough to pay our rent, little as it was. Not once did I even have to tell her of it. She always seemed to guess it for herself, and she would bring me what I needed, saved from her pitiful little housekeeping allowance, or earned by her teaching. All this selfish greed of pleasure and luxury is new to her. I do not like it. It is not like my girl!" "Our fault," agreed Dr. Crossett. "We spoke too much of the great success that was coming to you. It turned her head. Come, let us forget it." "Not yet, Paul; I want you to understand. I could not speak of her, as I am speaking now, to anyone but you. When she first insisted upon taking this apartment I knew that I did wrong not to forbid it, but she was in a peculiar nervous condition--she seemed morbid and unlike herself. I hardly dared to oppose her." "And the change?" inquired Dr. Crossett. "Has it done her good?" "I hardly know," the father answered, anxiously. "Her health seems to be satisfactory. In fact, she never, even as a child, seemed to be in such perfect physical condition, and yet----" He stopped, seemingly unable to finish. "It is the emotion," exclaimed Dr. Crossett, "the love. Young girls before marriage often have serious nervous disorders. We must be patient. There is no need to worry. Marriage will restore her old poise. I speak with authority, Martin, for my practice has shown me much of the delicate nature of these nervous disorders; there is nothing here that need alarm you. Come! Tell me. When is this marriage to take place?" "I cannot tell. It was to have been very soon after her recovery, but she has already postponed it twice. Young Dorris is almost out of patience."