"Dear devoted creature!" said Lorimer to himself when Hobbs had gone out. "The doctor is right, the world is not so bad--I wonder what all this means: the episode of the easel--what can that signify except that Dora loves Philip still, and cannot forget him? Alas, perhaps it is only the Philip of the old days that she tries to keep in her memory. Anyhow, it is a good symptom--my little idea is growing." Hearing steps in the adjoining room, he drew from his pocket a small packet which Philip had confided to his care. It was the "little family," of which the reader made the acquaintance at the beginning of this story. Philip had said to him, "Carry this letter to Dora and plead for me. If she refuses to listen to you and refuses to read my letter, give her this little packet, it will intercede for me." Dora came into the studio pale and evidently ill, but walking with a tolerably firm step. She made a kindly gesture to Hobbs and closed the door of the bedroom. "Ah, my dear friend," she said to Lorimer, "how good of you to come! I have not been very well lately, but I am better, much better ... well! what now? Why do you look at me like that?" "Why do I look at you?" "Yes." Lorimer had never seen Dora looking more beautiful than to-day. Her very pallor added a new charm. Her black gown was moulded to the lovely lines of her figure, and her hair was becomingly dressed. Lorimer had taken both her hands in his and was looking at her with eyes that expressed a mingling of sympathy, respect, and admiration. "Why do I look at you?" he repeated, "well, then, because I should like to give you a good kiss." "Why then, why don't you?" Lorimer kissed her on both cheeks, while still holding her hands. "I should just like," he said, "to take you up in my arms, carry you off and place you in Philip's." Dora quickly disengaged herself from Lorimer's light hold and repressed an angry gesture. She offered him a chair, and, taking one herself, said, "My dear Gerald, never pronounce that name in my hearing, and we shall be good friends still, as we always have been. Speak to me of yourself. Have you a new piece on hand? I hear that _Majella_ is still drawing crowded houses." Lorimer saw that he had gone a little too fast at the start. He resolved to be more cautious. A better opening might occur presently, perhaps. "No," he said, "it is of you we will talk! You are not looking well. Work, solitude, all that sort of thing is not good for you in your present state. Come, Dora, I am an old friend of your childhood, let us talk freely, you and I. You must leave London for the country, you want fresh air. It is the opinion of Dr. Templeton, and it is mine too." "I am very happy here, I have all that I want; don't be afraid ... I have plenty of occupation.... I work.... I try to forget."