FullReads

He presently finished his task, noted the time, and made an entry upon a tabulated sheet beside him; he then filed the memorandum upon a hook, and swung round in his chair, facing the intruder–for such the girl felt herself to be.

Fortunately Miss Willis was not without a sense of humor, and she was able to perceive an amusing quality in her reception to-day. Such supreme indifference to her very existence was so wholly foreign to anything in her past experience, that she was acutely sensible of its freshness and novelty.

But now the man became all at once impressed with the circumstance that she was still standing, and he bounded guiltily to his feet.

“Pardon me!” he exclaimed in confusion. “I was–was very busy when you came in. Won’t you please have this chair?” He awkwardly shoved one forward.

The man was young; Miss Willis was unable to determine whether he was good-looking, or ugly; whether he was the right sort, or impossible; so she accepted the proffered chair.

He resumed his own seat, and leaned one arm wearily upon the desk. Already he had forgotten his momentary embarrassment, and he was now regarding the girl simply as a patient.

“Dr. Leonard has given me the history of your case,” he informed her in a matter of fact way. “He requests that I continue with it–unless, of course, you prefer that he treat you himself.” He got up as he spoke, and Miss Willis decided that he was good-looking and young, and that he was tall and of a figure to appeal to the feminine eye.

Then she was guilty of a most reprehensible act of slyness. She turned full upon him the batteries of her lustrous dark eyes, and smiled dazzlingly, bewitchingly.

“I came to see Dr. Leonard,” she said in a tone that made one think of dripping honey. “And I object to being turned over to an assistant–at least before consulting me.”

Utterly at variance with all precedent, the bewitching look produced no effect whatever. The man bowed gravely, pressed a bell-button, and then went over to where Miss Willis was sitting. Before he could speak–if he had any such intention–a girl in starched cap and apron appeared in answer to his ring.

“Miss Willis has concluded not to remain,” he informed the maid. “Show Number Twenty-seven into Room Four. Inform her that I will see her in two minutes.” Producing his watch, he deliberately marked the time.

He turned to Miss Willis in a moment, with an air which said as plainly as words could have said it: “It’s a terrible waste of precious time, but if necessary I’ll sacrifice the two minutes to humoring any further caprices you may develop.”

This was too much for the young lady’s tranquillity: she laughed, and laughed frankly.

“Pray tell me,” she managed to say, “what my number is.”

Without the slightest alteration in his serious mien, he consulted a list hanging beside his desk.

“Seven,” he announced at length.

“Oh!”

“Why?” quickly. “Has there been some mistake?”

“No–oh, no”; Miss Willis was now perfectly composed. “I had a feeling, though, that it must have been nearer seven thousand.”

“It would be impossible, you know,” the man patiently explained, “to see that many patients in a day.”

“Indeed? How interesting!” Her irony was unnoticed, and once more she laughed. To tell the truth, if anybody could associate such a frivolity with Miss Willis’s dignity, she giggled.

She contemplated the man with undisguised curiosity. Naturally enough she had met more men than she could even remember, but never one anything like this particular specimen. To add to her quickened interest, he was not only positively good-looking, but every line of his face, the poise of his well-proportioned, upstanding figure, the tilt of his head and the squareness of his chin, all spoke of strength; of elemental strength, and of a purposeful, resolute character. And, too, she told herself that he had nice eyes. The nice eyes never wavered in their respectful regard of her.