The Doctor's eyes focused sharply on his face. "That girl loves you," said the Doctor tersely. For a moment then the Doctor's lips puffed silently at his pipe, until at last with an almost bashful gesture, he cried out abruptly: "Stanton, somehow I feel as though I owed you an apology, or rather, owed your fiancee one. Somehow when you told me that day that your young lady had gone gadding off to Florida and--left you alone with your sickness, why I thought--well, most evidently I have misjudged her." Stanton's throat gave a little gasp, then silenced again. He bit his lips furiously as though to hold back an exclamation. Then suddenly the whole perplexing truth burst forth from him. "That isn't from my fiancee!" he cried out. "That's just a professional love-letter. I buy them by the dozen,--so much a week." Reaching back under his pillow he extricated another letter. "_This_ is from my fiancee," he said. "Read it. Yes, do." "Aloud?" gasped the Doctor. Stanton nodded. His forehead was wet with sweat. "DEAR CARL, "The weather is still very warm. I am riding horseback almost every morning, however, and playing tennis almost every afternoon. There seem to be an exceptionally large number of interesting people here this winter. In regard to the list of names you sent me for the wedding, really, Carl, I do not see how I can possibly accommodate so many of your friends without seriously curtailing my own list. After all you must remember that it is the bride's day, not the groom's. And in regard to your question as to whether we expect to be home for Christmas and could I possibly arrange to spend Christmas Day with you--why, Carl, you are perfectly preposterous! Of course it is very kind of you to invite me and all that, but how could mother and I possibly come to your rooms when our engagement is not even announced? And besides there is going to be a very smart dance here Christmas Eve that I particularly wish to attend. And there are plenty of Christmases coming for you and me. "Cordially yours, "CORNELIA. "P. S. Mother and I hope that your rheumatism is much better." "That's the girl who loves me," said Stanton not unhumorously. Then suddenly all the muscles around his mouth tightened like the facial muscles of a man who is hammering something. "I mean it!" he insisted. "I mean it--absolutely. That's the--girl--who--loves--me!" Silently the two men looked at each other for a second. Then they both burst out laughing. "Oh, yes," said Stanton at last, "I know it's funny. That's just the trouble with it. It's altogether too funny." Out of a book on the table beside him he drew the thin gray and crimson circular of The Serial-Letter Co. and handed it to the Doctor. Then after a moment's rummaging around on the floor beside him, he produced with some difficulty a long, pasteboard box fairly bulging with papers and things.