"Instruments--and white coats--and ether," I was beginning, when he interrupted me. "And beyond them all," he finished, on a deeper note, "the poetry of healing!" I fell silent. Somehow that view of things had never occurred to me. Where one might see poetry, I saw only pain. Perhaps my face showed something of what I was remembering, for suddenly he rose and leaned over me. "Let me make you more comfortable," he suggested. And slipping a steady arm beneath my shoulders--there's more strength concealed in the slim length of him than one would imagine--he held me closely, while with the other hand he pounded my pillows and settled them firmly again. Something slid to the floor and lay there. "Oh!" I said, as he stooped to recover it. I put out my hands, but he was turning the book over. "Poetry?" he said pleasantly, and raised an eyebrow. I didn't care much for his tone. "Have you read it?" I asked belligerently. "_The Lyric Hour_? No. Do you care, then, so much for rhymesters?" "For this one," I answered, annoyed to confession. "That explains it!" "Explains what?" "The night you were ill," Doctor Denton went on calmly to reveal, "you called me 'Richard.'" I felt the hot color rise to my cheeks again. "Well?" "Nothing. Only--my name happens to be Bill." "It would be," I remarked. "Just what do you mean by that, Miss Carroll?" But I only smiled angelically, and asked, "When do you expect Doctor McAllister back again, Doctor Denton?" I do not know that my tone implied all that I felt, but I saw the steel-blue eyes grow very dark, and, "Thank you!" said Doctor Denton stiffly. I felt somewhat ashamed, and tried to make amends. "Please read _The Lyric Hour_, Doctor," I urged, in my prettiest party voice. "You will find it really worth while." The creature is, after all, occasionally understanding. He smiled forgivingly at me and held out his hand for the book. But I hadn't meant that. "Oh!" I said, hastily. "Not my copy!" "As precious as all that?" he asked, putting his rejected hand in his pocket. This I ignored. "Tell Mr. John Denton to send you out a copy," I suggested. "He sent us this one." "The devil he did!" I looked my surprise, and my visitor laughed. He has a very nice laugh, considering. "I beg your pardon, Miss Carroll. I am apt to be a trifle--," he paused, and considered me narrowly, "eh--jumpy. And I didn't know my Uncle John went in for ethereal chaps." Ethereal! The word, on those lips, was an insult! I glared at him, rather conscious that I must look like a sick kitten. Father came in, providentially. "How is she, Doctor?" he asked. Which was absurd, as I had reassured him concerning my welfare not two hours earlier. "Rather scrappy--lots of fight left," answered our guest, rising. I was speechless. "I think," said Doctor Denton, "we shall have to get her out of doors." Father and I stared at him.