"Because I am a woman--that is a sufficient reason. We women are driven to do strange things, by motives that cannot be put into words, motives that we cannot ourselves analyze. But see, here comes the doctor. He's sweet on me--so he's safe to come and talk with us." CHAPTER X. A LOVE THAT DOES NOT RUN SMOOTHLY. The gentleman who was approaching the two girls was a quietly-dressed man of about thirty-two, but he looked somewhat older. He was tall and broad-shouldered. His clean-shaved face was massive in its make, and indicative of power. His expression was grave, and women would have put him down as plain were it not for his eyes, clear thoughtful brown eyes, with a noble look in them that inspired confidence and respect. Dr. Duncan had acquired a considerable reputation as a surgeon since we last saw him in the Gaiety with Tommy Hudson. He was still working in the same hospital--that in which Mary and Susan were undergoing their training as nurses. Taking off his hat, he addressed the girls in a pleasant tone. "I am glad to see that you are making the best of this beautiful afternoon. How lovely the foliage of the trees is, Miss Riley; is it not? I don't think I ever remember seeing such fine autumnal effects in the heart of London." Susan replied in a sentimental voice: "Yes, doctor; but it means hard work for us I fear. This still dank weather makes nature look like a sort of huge death-bed, the vegetation rotting slowly, and the steam of decay hanging over everything. It's just the weather to breed fevers and rheumatisms. The weakly ill-fed poor will inhale the foul breath of the dying air, and rot off like all these pretty hectic leaves you are admiring so much." The false voice in which she said this rather jarred on Dr. Duncan. He looked at her curiously, and said: "Yes! but it is better for them than the cold winds and the snow and the frost after all, Miss Riley. The maladies and deaths _they_ cause are out of the reach of us doctors, though the remedies are simple enough, God knows. Coals and bread, that is all that is wanted to stop nine-tenths of the illness of what is called a good old-fashioned winter." Susan gave the doctor a soft look out of her voluptuous wicked eyes, and exclaimed in a sort of mellow cooing voice, which she knew how to put on when she wanted to fascinate: and it was well calculated to effect this object: "Ah, doctor! they say that you give away a great deal of that sort of medicine among the poor of this district sometimes. How gratefully they speak of you! You are idolized in the lowest slums. They would die for you. It must be delicious to be loved by all as you are," and she threw out a sigh and another bewitching glance. But the flattery was a little too thickly laid on for a man of this stamp, though he liked flattery well enough, as all men do, bad or good.