"It's not at all difficult," he replied. "It only requires a delicate touch like mine (am I not a surgeon?) and presto! my lady blooms like a wild rose." He brushed Claire's cheekbones lightly with the puff, adding a touch to the small pointed chin. Her lashes fluttering like the wings of a butterfly, Claire let him have his way. He stepped back and looked at her admiringly. "Did I say wild rose? It should have been tea rose. I am indeed an artist," he said softly, a new expression creeping into his honest eyes. Claire gazed at herself in the tiny mirror. The change both frightened and delighted her. "Don't you think it's wicked?--why, you'd never know it wasn't real!" she cried femininely. "Of course not. But like all prescriptions it mustn't be overdone. It should be taken homeopathically, in microscopic doses." "It makes me feel so daring," said Claire, as they emerged on to the street. "That's just what you need," he replied promptly. "Audacity, more audacity, and still more audacity, as Balzac or some other old French geezer said." The drive home was almost too short. Dr. Elliott talked of himself and his ambition, and Claire listened with real interest. It seemed obstetrics was to be his specialty, as it was obviously his god. "You have no idea what a need there is for it in small towns," he told her enthusiastically. "The countless farmers' wives that could be saved if they had the proper attention! Pregnancy should be treated as a real sickness. If you leave it all to nature, the old lady goes about it in her usual, sloppy, destructive way. But give it the proper attention and it responds like a flash." He gave her a quick, piercing look. "Child-birth is no longer a bugaboo of the Old Testament, thanks to science, and I'm going to make it my business to prove it." A little tremulous and self-conscious, Claire looked at him with trepidation. Would he be mentioning her own condition soon? But he knew better than to do that. Gradually, the conversation became frivolous. Before she arrived home, Claire had not only promised to buy a new hat, but to buy it in his company. "We will go to one of those places on 57th Street--you don't care what you pay, do you? They'll sting you, of course, but you'll get something snappy. Then we'll have lunch somewhere and if I can get off from the hospital, go to the matinée. How about it?" Claire smiled happily. Then her expression became dubious. She was evidently screwing herself up to say something very difficult indeed. "What's the matter? Shoot," said the doctor with twinkling eyes. "Shoot? Oh, I see! Well, as a matter of fact, Dr. Elliott, I will go with you under one condition only." "Name it." "That you will allow me to pay my own way. I wouldn't enjoy it otherwise." Her eyes pleaded with him not to be offended. He looked nonplussed for a moment, then nodded at her gravely.