A little later, in the dining-room, where he had passed so many restful hours with Burke and his father, about the softly lighted table, the doctor now, in the midst of a chattering, thronging multitude, attempted to keep his own balance, and that of a tiny, wobbly plate, intermittently heaped with salads, sandwiches, cakes, and creams, which he was supposed to eat, but which he momentarily and terrifyingly expected to deposit upon a silken gown or a spotless shirt-front. The doctor was one of the first of John Denby's guests to make his adieus. He had decided suddenly that he must get away, quite away, from the sight of Burke and the little widow. Otherwise he should say something--a very strong something; and, for obvious reasons, he really could say--nothing. Disgusted, frightened, annoyed, and aggrieved, he went home the next morning. To his sister he said much. He could talk to his sister. He gave first a full account of what he had seen and heard in Dalton, omitting not one detail. Then, wrathfully, he reproached her:-- "So you see what's come of your foolishness. Burke isn't building bridges for the Hottentots now. He's giving pink teas to flighty blondes." Mrs. Thayer laughed softly. "But that's only another way of trying to get away from himself, Frank," she argued. "Yes, but I notice he isn't trying to get away from the widow," he snapped. A disturbed frown came to the lady's face. "I know." She bit her lips. "I am a little worried at that, Frank, I'll own. I've wondered, often, if--if there was ever any danger of something like that happening." "Well, you wouldn't wonder any longer, if you should see Mrs. Nellie Carrolton," observed the doctor, with terse significance. There was a moment's silence; then, sharply, the doctor spoke again. "I'm going to write to Helen." "Oh, Frank!" "I am. I've got to. I don't think it's right not to." "But what shall you--tell her?" "That she'd better come home and look after her property; if she doesn't, she's likely to lose it. That's what I'm going to tell her." "Oh, Frank!" murmured his distressed sister again; but she made no further demur. And that night the letter went. In due course came the answer. It was short, but very much to the point. The doctor read it, and said a sharp something behind his teeth. Without another word he handed the note to his sister. And this is what she read:-- _Dear Dr. Gleason_:-- He isn't my property. I can't lose him, for I haven't him to lose. He took himself away from me years ago. If ever I'm to win him back, I must win him--not compel him. If he thinks he's found some one else--all the more reason why I can't come back now, until he knows whether he wants her or not. But if I came now, and he should want her-- Really, Dr. Gleason, I don't want the same man to tell me twice to--go. HELEN D.