Claire's voice faltered. She answered somewhat shortly. "Yes, he was very ill, almost all summer. And now he has pneumonia." Dr. Elliott looked startled. "Pneumonia? But that is a shame, Mrs. Petrovskey. Is he in the hospital?" She hesitated visibly. "No, he is in his studio at Gramercy Park." He mastered a twinge of compunction, and persisted. It was absolutely necessary that the girl should relieve her over-charged heart. That she was apparently in bitter trouble of some sort had been palpable to him ever since he first visited her in the hospital. Now that she was home again and he had met that amiably sinister aunt, he felt more strongly than ever her crying need of help. "Taken ill while practicing, I suppose?" he continued casually. With a useless effort to control her convulsed face, Claire met his eyes reproachfully. Why could he not accept her subterfuge? "Mr. Petrovskey and I are not living together," she said quickly, mustering a few pitiful shreds of dignity. The doctor looked ahead at the gleaming snow-covered road in front of them. "Does he know you are pregnant?" he asked curtly. "Oh no, no! He doesn't even suspect." She clasped and unclasped her hands in utter distress. "Please, please, Dr. Elliott!" But the voice went on grimly. "I think he ought to be told, that is--as soon as he is well enough to hear it." She uttered a stifled cry. Then gathered her forces together with hysterical strength. "You don't understand the circumstances! I simply could not tell him now," she cried with suppressed passion. "Don't you love him?" probed the voice. Head sunk upon her chest, a tempestuous wave of scarlet flooded Claire's face and neck. "Yes." The word was barely audible. The doctor's eyes rested upon her with veiled pity. So there was another woman, was there? "Would you like me to tell him for you?" he persisted more gently. Regardless of the wheel, Claire grasped his arm convulsively. "I cannot bear this," she moaned. "Dr. Elliott, I don't want to go any further. Will you please take me home?" He drove to the side of the road and stopped the car. Eyes averted from her tortured face, he spoke gravely. "Mrs. Petrovskey, I hope you will forgive me for being so rough. But I am only trying to help you, in my clumsy way. I have seen from the first that things were not right with you, and I thought that if you could bring yourself to speak out, it would help you. I am your doctor, you know. And a doctor is in his own manner a species of father confessor. But I see that I have made a mistake, and a perfect brute of myself besides. If I promise not to mention the subject again, will you try to forgive me?" His sincerity touched her. With an attempt at a smile, she laid her hand upon his sleeve. "Of course, I will! I realized all along that you were trying to help me, that it wasn't just idle curiosity on your part." "I should hope not," he muttered fervently.