"Don't be angry, Richard," she said apologetically. "But please tell me what you do. Did you specialize in nerves after all?"
He shook his head. "No, Joan, I specialized in brain; I'm a surgeon, my dear."
"A great one, Richard?"
"Oh, I don't know; I'm fairly useful, I think."
His words roused a vague echo in her, something stirred feebly; the ghost of by-gone enthusiasm, called from the grave by the mere proximity of this man, so redolent of self-confidence and success. She moved uneasily, conscious that her thoughts were straying backwards. "Elizabeth——" she began, but checked herself, and at that moment a porter came up.
"Please, miss, the lady in twenty-four says will you come up at once, she's in bed."
"I must go; good-night, Richard."
"Wait a minute!" he said eagerly. "When shall I see you again?"
She hesitated. "I think I can get off for a walk at nine o'clock to-morrow morning; Mother won't be getting up until about twelve."
"I shall be waiting here in the hall," he said.