"This afternoon, sir; that's why I had to come to you. I can't stand it, Doctor. I've stood a lot, but I can't, can't let 'em do that to her. She's all that's left, and it seems like some one must be able to help her." "Paul, will you look at this child? You say that you have worked on these cases. Can't you and I together help this little girl?" "Yes, Martin," Dr. Crossett exclaimed with resolution. "Yes! Come! I will examine her!" "Let her wait until after dinner," interrupted Lola impatiently. They all looked at her astounded, the agony in the mother's voice had moved them deeply. Dr. Crossett's kind eyes were full of tears. Dr. Barnhelm was more surprised at her tone than indignant at her heartlessness, but he responded rather sharply: "Lola! The child is suffering." "Naturally, I am very sorry for her," replied Lola, "but you can't stop all the suffering in the world, and I'm sure Jane will be furious if we keep her waiting much longer." "Come, Nellie," said Dr. Barnhelm, replying to Lola only with a look of reproach. "We will use the library, Paul. You can be making us a cocktail, John; we won't be long." He turned kindly to Mrs. Mooney. "It would be better for you to remain here. This gentleman is Dr. Crossett, one of the leading surgeons of Paris. He will do his best to help us." "God bless you, sir," cried the grateful woman to Dr. Crossett, impressed, as all whom he met were, by his air of quiet confidence. "I think you would help her, if you could." "I am going to try, very earnestly, very hopefully. She is young; that is in our favor. Very shortly now I shall tell you, quite frankly, just what our chances are." He left the room with Dr. Barnhelm and Nellie. John had stepped into the dining-room to mix the cocktail. Mrs. Mooney stood watching Nellie until she had passed out of sight, then turned and crossed to where Lola stood looking indolently out of the window. "You say you can't stop all the suffering in the world," she began, trying hard to control herself. "No, you can't! That child of mine was born to it. She's had it every hour of her life. Don't think I am forgetting what I owe to your father, and to you. But I never thought to hear you speak like that!" "Why did you come here?" Lola turned on her with a fierceness that made her own seem tame. "How dared you and your sickly child put me in a false position? Do you think that my father has nothing to do but devote his skill to you? For what?" She hissed the question at her, her voice shrill with scorn and contempt. "You won't pay him. You know that! His time is his wealth, and you rob him of it. Do you know what they call a person who robs another of his wealth? A thief!"