“Perfectly legitimate, my dear Keyork. Yes, I have just left her. It is like a breath of spring morning to go there in these days.” “You find it refreshing?” “Yes. There is something about her that I could describe as soothing, if I were aware of ever being irritable, which I am not.” Keyork smiled and looked down, trying to dislodge a bit of ice from the pavement with the point of his stick. “Soothing--yes. That is just the expression. Not exactly the quality most young and beautiful women covet, eh? But a good quality in its way, and at the right time. How is she to-day?” “She seemed to have a headache--or she was oppressed by the heat. Nothing serious, I fancy, but I came away, as I fancied I was tiring her.” “Not likely,” observed Keyork. “Do you know Israel Kafka?” he asked suddenly. “Israel Kafka,” repeated the Wanderer thoughtfully, as though searching in his memory. “Then you do not,” said Keyork. “You could only have seen him since you have been here. He is one of Unorna’s most interesting patients, and mine as well. He is a little odd.” Keyork tapped his ivory forehead significantly with one finger. “Mad,” suggested the Wanderer. “Mad, if you prefer the term. He has fixed ideas. In the first place, he imagines that he has just been travelling with me in Italy, and is always talking of our experiences. Humour him, if you meet him. He is in danger of being worse if contradicted.” “Am I likely to meet him?” “Yes. He is often here. His other fixed idea is that he loves Unorna to distraction. He has been dangerously ill during the last few weeks but is better now, and he may appear at any moment. Humour him a little if he wearies you with his stories. That is all I ask. Both Unorna and I are interested in the case.” “And does not Unorna care for him at all?” inquired the other indifferently. “No, indeed. On the contrary, she is annoyed at his insistance, but sees that it is a phase of insanity and hopes to cure it before long.” “I see. What is he like? I suppose he is an Israelite.” “From Moravia--yes. The wreck of a handsome boy,” said Keyork carelessly. “This insanity is an enemy of good looks. The nerves give way--then the vitality--the complexion goes--men of five and twenty years look old under it. But you will see for yourself before long. Good-bye. I will go in and see what is the matter with Unorna.”