The veranda, with its green blinds of cane hanging down, and its matting on the floor, and its easy-chairs and tables, made a pretty room to look at. In the twilight, the fragile figure, pale, thin, dressed in white, would have lent interest even to a stranger. To the doctor, I suppose, it was only a "case." He pushed the blinds aside and stepped in, strong, big, masterful. "You are much better," he said; "you will very soon be able to walk about. Only be careful for a few days. It was lucky that the attack came when it did, and not a little earlier when we were in the thick of the trouble. Well, you won't want me much longer, I believe." "No, thank you," she murmured, without raising her eyes. "I have had no opportunity," he said, standing over her, "of explaining that I really did not know who you were, Miss Vernon. Somehow I didn't see your face, or I was thinking of other things. I suppose you had forgotten me. Anyhow, it was not until the other day, when I was called in, that I remembered. But I dare say you have forgotten me." "No; I have not forgotten." "I thought that long ago you had become Lady Duport." "No; that did not take place." "I hear that you have been teaching since your mother's death. Do you like it?" "Yes; I like it." "Do you remember the last time we met--on the sea-shore? Do you remember, Florence?" His voice softened suddenly. "We had a quarrel about that old villain; do you remember?" "I thought you had forgotten such a little thing as that long ago, and the girl you quarrelled with." "The point is rather whether you remember. That is of much more importance." "I remember that you swore that you would never forgive a worthless girl who had ruined your life. Did I ruin your life, Dr. Fernie?" He laughed. He could not honestly say that she had. In fact, his life, so far as concerned his work, had gone on much about the same. But then, such a man does not allow love to interfere with his career. "And then you went and threw over the old man. Florence, why didn't you tell me that you were going to do that? You might have told me." She shook her head. "Until you fell into such a rage, and called me such dreadful names, I did not understand." "Why didn't you tell me, Florence?" he repeated. She shook her head again. "You were only a little innocent, ignorant child then," he said; "of course you could not understand. I was an ass and a brute and a fool not to know." "You said you would never forgive me. You said you would never shake hands with me again." He held out his hand. "Since," he said, "you are not going to marry the old man, and since you are not engaged to anybody else, why--then--in that case--the old state of things is still going on; and--and--Florence--but if you give me your hand, I shall keep it, mind."