When the slight, well-tailored little figure entered the room Stefan found it hard to believe that this fresh-faced girl was the physician, already a specialist in her line, to whom Mary's fate had been entrusted. For the first time he wondered if he should not have shared with Mary some responsibility for her arrangements. But as, with an unwonted sense of duty, he questioned the little doctor, his doubts vanished. Without a trace of the much hated professional manner she gave him glimpses of wide experience, and at one point mentioned an operation she had just performed--which he knew by hearsay as one of grave difficulty--with the same enthusiastic pleasure another young woman might have shown in the description of a successful bargain-hunt. She was to Stefan a new type, and he was delighted with her. Mary, watching him, thought with affectionate irony that had the little surgeon been reported plain of face he would have denied himself in advance both the duty and the pleasure of meeting her. Over their tea, Dr. Hillyard made a suggestion. “Where are you planning to spend the summer?” she asked. Stefan looked surprised. “We thought we ought to be here, near you,” he answered. “Oh, no,” the doctor shook her head; “young couples are always martyrizing themselves for these events. By May it will be warm, and Mrs. Byrd isn't acclimatized to our American summers. Find a nice place not too far from the city--say on Long Island--and I can run out whenever necessary. You both like the country, I imagine?” Stefan was overjoyed. He jumped up. “Dr. Hillyard, you've saved us. We thought we had to be prisoners, and I've been eating my heart out for France. The country will be a compromise.” “Yes,” said the doctor, smiling a little, “Mrs. Byrd has been longing for England for a month or more.” “I never said so!” and “She never told me!” exclaimed Mary and Stefan simultaneously. “No, you didn't,” the little doctor nodded wisely at her patient, “but I know.” Stefan immediately began to plan an expedition in search of the ideal spot, as unspoiled if possible as Shadeham, but much nearer town. All through dinner he discussed it, his spirits hugely improved, and immediately after rang up Constance Elliot for advice. “Hold the line,” the lady's voice replied, “while I consult.” In a minute or two she returned. “Mr. Farraday is dining with us, and I've asked him. He lives at Crab's Bay, you know.” “No, I don't,” objected Stefan. “Well, he does,” her voice laughed back. “He was born there. He says if you like he will come over and talk to you about it, and I, like a self-sacrificing hostess, am willing to let him.” “Splendid idea,” said Stefan, “ask him to come right over. Mary,” he called, hanging up the receiver, “Constance is sending Farraday across to advise us.” “Oh, dear,” said she; “sometimes I feel almost overwhelmed by all the favors we receive from our friends.”