He snatched it eagerly, hoping to find a summons; but, alas! it was only a bill from a jobbing-tailor whom he had employed to renovate various garments _sub rosa_. He had no money to pay it; although it went sorely against the grain to keep the poor man from his due. He paced in distress up and down the narrow room, wishing he dare start out for a long walk, to distract his thoughts. But he dreaded to leave, lest in his absence some desirable patient might send for him. And so, hanging about listlessly, unable to settle to anything, the dismal morning passed, like too many others; and Ann brought in his meal of bread and cheese, from which he rose nearly as hungry as he sat down. He looked at himself in the spotty pier-glass. His cheeks were falling in, and there were hollows beneath his eyes, due entirely to insufficient nourishment. A card stuck in the frame reminded him that Mrs. Ormsby-Paulet was "at home" that afternoon. "It's a tennis party--shall I go?" he debated. It seemed a mockery to mingle in a scene of gaiety with such a leaden weight at his heart; but a prosaic consideration decided him. "There'll be a good tea, at least, and if I make myself very agreeable, perhaps they'll ask me to stay to dinner. Besides, I may get to know some people who'll employ me." He dressed himself carefully, and sallied forth; informing the servant of his destination, in case anybody should send for him. Despite his thin cheeks, there was not a better-looking man at "The Dene" that afternoon; for he looked a gentleman to the backbone, and as such, his hostess--who was very short of men--smiled upon him graciously. "So glad you were able to come," she cooed. "Miss Waller," to the spinster, who had just arrived, "may I introduce my friend, Dr. Inglis?" "I have already made his acquaintance," was the suave answer; and then Harold, to his surprise, was greeted by Mrs. Burnside, looking very fair and sweet in a cool white linen gown. He had not expected to meet her; he naturally supposed her place to be by the bedside of her sick child. In truth, she was only present at her aunt's urgent entreaty. "I'm afraid she must be rather heartless," thought the young doctor, feeling oddly disappointed. He had not hitherto attributed want of feeling to the owner of those pathetic blue eyes. Nevertheless, as sets were being made up, he asked her to be his partner, she being famed in Beachbourne as a tennis-player. She complied; but the set was not a success. He could not have believed that Mrs. Burnside could play so badly; they were beaten by six games to two. "I am so sorry," she said humbly, as they quitted the court. "I know it was all my fault; but I really couldn't play--I was thinking of Doris all the time." Her lips quivered, so that he could no longer imagine her heartless. "Your little girl will be well in a few days--there is really no cause for anxiety," he answered gently, angry with himself for having misjudged her.