When, watching covertly, she saw the haggard lines slowly fade from her companion’s face, the blood gradually mount to his cheeks, she drew an audible breath. "That’s great stuff!" Daniel Ballard observed appreciatively. "What do you call it?" Madam Crewe raised her eyebrows. "I don’t call it. It has no name, so far as I know. It’s an old stimulant my father picked up somewhere in the far East. He treasured it like gold." "It’s certainly done the trick. I was all in, and now I feel quite fit. Mrs. Slawson and I have been _on the job_ since morning. She’s a wonder, that woman! No end of nerve and pluck. I could make a corking good nurse of her! She’s back there now, watching. Firm as Gibraltar. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I had to get away for a moment, to catch a breath of fresh air, and a glimpse of——" "Me?" Madam Crewe caught him up. He corrected her gravely. "No, the evening star." "Katherine came home from the Ronalds’ this morning much disturbed." "Over the case?" "Yes—that, and—the fact of your being what she hadn’t supposed." Dr. Ballard looked his question. "She feels overawed, now she’s aware _what a great man are you_. A bit sheepish, too, I fancy, because, if I remember right, she has twitted you, more than once, on being worn out waiting for patients." "Well, what of it? Suppose she has? I can stand chaffing, I hope. And besides, she was right. I _am_ worn out waiting for patients—waiting for patients to ’do the rest’ after I’ve, so to speak, ’pressed the button.’" "It’s hard to believe you’re the Daniel Ballard of Boston there’s so much fuss about. Are you sure you’re the man Elihu Webster meant? The man he called a celebrated specialist—the best skill in New England—and so forth and so forth?" "I’m the only M.D. of my name in Boston," the young man said simply. "But I don’t call myself a specialist, much less and-so-forth and-so-forth!" "What do you call yourself, then?" "A physician." "I wish I had married your grandfather," Madam Crewe announced. Daniel Ballard bent his head, acknowledging what was more than mere compliment, by a silence sincerer than words. "I must go. Where’s Katherine?" he asked, after a moment. "I don’t know. Not at home, I fancy. Will you do me a favor?" "If I can." "Don’t try to see her for a while. Leave her alone." He had risen to go, but her words checked him. "I can’t give you any such promise," he said. "It seems a strange request for you to make." "You don’t trust me?" "No. Not in this." "You may." He hesitated. "Perhaps. Still—I give no promise. I’ll think it over. When I have more time, you’ll explain?" "Perhaps," she echoed. The next minute she was alone. However she accomplished it, Madam Crewe had her way. Katherine did not see Dr. Ballard again before he left for Boston. He left a brief note explaining that Mr. Ronald refused to release him, even after Dr. Webster arrived with his brace of nurses.