They drank in silence, and as they put their glasses down Lola joined them. She had changed to what, to the masculine eye, looked like a very elaborate street costume, and she stood there in the doorway buttoning her gloves as she called out gayly: "You two look comfortable!" "Ah, yes," replied Dr. Crossett. "An old friend, a good drink, a pretty woman, what more could be asked? Ah, my dear." He looked at her admiringly. "How chic, how fine we look." "A new dress, Lola?" inquired her father, looking up from his chessmen absently. "Oh, dear, no," said Lola, carelessly. "Just an old rag." "A dainty rag," commented Dr. Crossett. "I am sure I never saw it before," continued Dr. Barnhelm, looking at her a little anxiously. "It's just a little thing I had made up. It cost scarcely anything. I am glad if it looks even passable," remarked Lola. "Passable!" responded Dr. Crossett. "Twenty years ago it would never have passed me, not with its present wearer. Do you know, Lola, what would be the greatest joy that could come to me? To take you to Paris, to show you to my friends, to see you there in the city that of all the world's cities best knows how to value a beautiful woman. There is but one word for you to-day, Lola. You are radiant." He spoke no more than the truth. She had always been a beautiful girl, but since her recovery she had gained the things she had always needed, color, animation, and as she stood there now, laughing at him, but thrilling at his praise, she made a picture that few men could have looked at unmoved. The rich costume set her off to great advantage and her contemptuous description of it would not have deceived any woman's eye for a moment. "And if you are not careful you will make me frightfully conceited. Now you two be real good, and don't drink too much of that whiskey before I come back." "Are you going out?" asked her father as he made the opening move of the game. "Yes, dear, I have a little appointment at three. It really doesn't matter at all, but I thought that you two would rather be alone." She bent over her father's chair, and kissed him tenderly, then turned daringly to Dr. Crossett, her hand on his shoulder and, her face very near to his, she said teasingly, "If you were just the very least little bit older I should kiss you, too." "I am," replied the Doctor promptly, "considerably older than I look." "You are not to be trusted," she responded gayly. "I am very sure of that! Good-bye, dears. I am going now." As she turned away, a little hurriedly, for she saw by the clock on the mantel that it was ten minutes of three, John Dorris entered the room; at the sight of him standing there between her and the door for just a fraction of a second a queer, fierce look flashed across her face, such a look as one might see in an angry panther's eyes, but before John could see it, it was gone, and she was smiling at him sweetly.