The man wheeled and Claire found herself looking up into the amused face of Dr. Elliott. "Why, it's you!" Her eyes were wide with surprise. "You thought I was trying to pick you up, didn't you?" laughed the young doctor. "Well, I am! My car is across the street. Come on, it's a perfect day for a drive!" He nodded gayly to the policeman, who was pocketing his medicine in mollified silence. A hand beneath Claire's arm, he started to pilot her through the traffic. She hesitated on the curb, looking up at him in plaintive terror. His professional eye noted her pallor and the wistful rings about the dark eyes. "But I don't think I'd better," stammered Claire. "I--I came out for a walk, you know. You--you wanted me to walk!" "What a timid little lady! I shan't run away with you. Won't you change your mind, please? It's such a wonderful day and I'm all alone in the big city. I promise not to be ogreish!" The dawn of a smile broke the tightened line of her lips. "Well, if you're lonely?" she conceded. "It would be selfish of me not to, wouldn't it?" He looked down upon her in surprise. Why, the girl looked almost pretty. If she wouldn't wear such awful hats, and had a little color in her cheeks, she wouldn't be bad at all. At any rate, she was the most pathetic little creature he had seen in a dog's age. And a fellow's heart warmed to her most unprofessionally. "Good for you!" He picked up Bébé with one hand, and piloting Claire with the other, threaded the way carefully through the holiday traffic. "I wish we had a sleigh and a pair of horses." He helped her into the Buick coupé and got in beside her. The machine started. "It's a perfect day for the country. What do you say to driving out into Westchester?" Claire flushed joyfully. "Oh, I'd love it," she cried, off her guard. "I'm so tired of Riverside Drive and the Park. It's my daily penance, you know." Her smile faded. He nodded sympathetically. "Yes, I know." They joined the northward traffic. With joyful tail-wagging Bébé leaped to the window and stared out ecstatically. "He loves it," said Claire, and smiled her tired little smile. "He goes out in the car with me every day, and never seems to get tired of it as I do." "Do you always go alone?" asked the doctor shortly. She turned her face away from the searching gray eyes. "Yes, but I don't mind. It--it's a good time to think, you know." "Yes," his searching eyes explored the averted cheek, upon which her lashes fluttered nervously. "Do you mind if I ask you a question, Mrs. Petrovskey?" She turned apprehensive eyes upon him. "Oh, no, Dr. Elliott, of course not." "Isn't your husband the famous Mr. Petrovskey, the well-known pianist or something?" "The violinist," she corrected quietly. "Yes, Dr. Elliott." "So I thought. Didn't he have a breakdown of some sort last summer? I don't keep up much with artists and people like that, I haven't time, but I seem to remember having read something about it in the papers."