all I have, and she to take it, such is her incapacity to be swayed by sordid considerations, I should not venture to believe the transaction advanced me one step.”

“Dr. John,” I began, “love is blind.” But just then a blue, subtle ray sped sideways from Dr. John’s eye. It reminded me of old days; it reminded me of his picture. It half led me to think that part, at least, of his professed persuasion of Miss Fanshawe’s naïveté was assumed; it led me dubiously to conjecture that perhaps, in spite of his passion for her beauty, his appreciation of her foibles might possibly be less mistaken, more clear-sighted, than from his general language was presumable. After all it might be only a chance look, or, at best, the token of a merely momentary impression. Chance or intentional, real or imaginary, it closed the conversation.