"Speaking of steam whistles reminds me of ears," he said. "Naturally! The two go together, all right!" But she saw that his face remained grave. "Oh!--you mean the steam-whistler's ears--I see." "Yes, I have examined them rather carefully. They aren't hopeless little ears--not hopeless. I'm not ready to go any farther than that yet. But I intend--you see, I specialized in ears and a few other things at the University--in practice, too, before--before I reformed." Quickly Miss Theodosia looked up. "There! You are harking back; please don't hark back! It was mean in me to say it. I'm sorry! If I'd sent Elly Precious to college--while he was my baby--and given him a doctor's degree, he could have taken it or left it. He'd have had a right. Men have rights to their own lives." "Sure," but John Bradford's tone was thoughtful rather than emphatic. "Still--I sometimes wonder--" "Why?--tell me why!" Now she was championing the Reformed Doctor! "You could do as you pleased, couldn't you? It was your own life you were 'reforming.' Still, I wonder, too. Tell me how it happened." "How do I know how it happened?" He was walking up and down the room. "It was in my blood to write stories. I wrote them every chance I could get. Had to write them. I suppose I woke up to the rather decent conclusion that a man can't serve two masters and serve them well. Isn't efficient. So I chose my favorite master. There you have it in a nutshell. May I have mine in a teacup?" She filled the dainty shell, but it rattled a little on its saucer. Miss Theodosia felt about for less moving things; she was strangely moved. "How is the love story getting on?" she asked. "The--oh! Well, it had a setback awhile ago. Setbacks are not good for love stories. But I shall go to work on it again." "At once--to-day?" What was this sudden freak of hers to drive him to work?--the work she had all but derided before. "To-day. I'm working on it now--that is--er--" "Before and after--tea," she smiled. "Well, I shall help you all I can on that story. I feel in a penitent mood. When you begin on it again--" "I've begun on it again." "After you go home, I mean. When you go to work again, make believe I'm David Copperfield's Dora--holding the pens!" Too late she saw her error and hedged. "Or cups of tea to keep up your strength." "I like pens better. If Dora were there--" "One more cup? You've only had one. The cups are no size at all. And while you drink it, tell me about your heroine. What have you named her?" "Dora," he said promptly. "You see, you've helped already."