“Nothing. I have simply followed Mr. Taylor’s lead. His is the artist eye that can see beauty beneath disguises. He has told Miss Ennis that she was meant to be a beautiful woman. I have told her that she can be what she was meant to be if she wills, and wills hard enough.” “And you will take charge of her case?” asked Mrs. Clyde. “That, of course, depends upon you and Mr. Clyde. If you will include Miss Ennis in the family, my responsibilities will automatically extend to her.” “Most certainly,” said Mrs. Clyde. “And now, Mr. Taylor,” she added, answering a look of appeal from that uncomfortable gentleman, “come and see the sketches. I really believe they are Whistler’s.” As they left, Dr. Strong looked down at Louise Ennis with a smile. “At present I prescribe a little cold water for those eyes,” said he. “And then some general conversation in the drawing-room. Come here tomorrow at four.” “No,” said she. “I want to begin at once.” “So as to profit by the impetus of the first enthusiasm? Very well. How did you come here this evening?” “In my limousine.” “Sell it.” “Sell my new car? At this time of year?” “Store it, then.” “And go about on street-cars, I suppose?” “Not at all. Walk.” “But when it rains?” “Run.” Eagerness died out of Louise Ennis’s face. “Oh, I know,” she said pettishly. “It’s that old, old exercise treatment. Well, I’ve tried that, and if you think—” She stopped in surprise, for Dr. Strong, walking over to the door, held the portière aside. “After you,” he said courteously. “Is that all the advice you have for me?” she persisted. “After you,” he repeated. “Well, I’m sorry,” she said sulkily. “What is it you want me—” “Pardon me,” he interrupted in uncompromising tones. “I am sure they are waiting for us in the other room.” “You are treating me like a spoiled child,” declared Miss Ennis, stamping a period to the charge with her high French heel. “Precisely.” She marched out of the room, and, with the physician, joined the rest of the company. For the remainder of the evening she spoke little to any one and not at all to Dr. Strong. But when she came to say good-night he was standing apart. He held out his hand, which she could not well avoid seeing. “When you get up to-morrow,” he said, “look in the mirror, [she winced] and say, ‘I can be beautiful if I want to hard enough.’ Good-bye.” Luncheon at the Clydes’ next day was given up to a family discussion of Miss Louise Ennis, precipitated by Mr. Clyde, who rallied Dr. Strong on his newest departure. “Turned beauty doctor, have you?” he taunted good-humoredly. “Trainer, rather,” answered Dr. Strong. “You might be in better business,” declared Mrs. Sharpless, with her customary frankness. “Beauty is only skin-deep.” “Grandma Sharpless’s quotations,” remarked Dr. Strong to the saltcellar, “are almost as sure to be wrong as her observations are to be right.” “It was a wiser man than you or I who spoke that truth about beauty.”