loved him since we made mud-pies together; I'm hungry, thirsty for him. He's everything to me, and if he follows out this fool renunciation he seems set on, it'll kill me!"
De Grandin tweaked a waxed mustache-end thoughtfully. "You exemplify the practicality of woman, Mademoiselle; I applaud your sound, hard common sense," he told her. "Bring this silly young romantic foolish one to me. I will tell him——"
"But he won't come," I interrupted. "I know these hard-minded young asses. When a lad is set on being stubborn——"
"Will you go to work on him if I can get him here?" interjected Nella.
"Of a certitude, Mademoiselle."
"You won't think me forward or unmaidenly?"
"This is a medical consultation, Mademoiselle."
"AH right; be in the office this time tomorrow night. I'll have my wandering boy friend here if I have to bring him in an ambulance."
Her performance matched her promise almost too closely for our comfort. We had just finished dinner next night when the frenzied shriek of tortured brakes, followed by a crash and the tinkling spatter of smashed glass, sounded in the street before the house, and in a moment feet dragged heavily across the porch. We were at the door before the bell could buzz, and in the disk of brightness sent down by the porch light saw Nella bent half double, stumbling forward with a man's arm draped across her shoulders. His feet scuifed blindly on the boards, as though they had forgot the trick of walking, or as if all strength had left his knees. His head hung forward, lolling drunkenly; a spate of blood ran down his face and smeared his collar.
"Good Lord!" I gasped. "What——"
"Get him in the surgery—quick!" the girl commanded in a whisper. "I'm afraid I rather overdid it."
Examination showed the cut across Ned's forehead was more bloody than extensive, while the scalp-wound which plowed backward from his hairline needed but a few quick stitches.
Nella whispered to us as we worked. "I got him to go riding with me in my runabout. Just as we got here I let out a scream and swung the wheel hard over to the right. I was braced for it, but Ned was unprepared, and went right through the windshield when I ran the car into the curb. Lord, I thought I'd killed him when I saw the blood—you do think he'll come through all right, don't you, Doctor?"
"No thanks to you if he does, you little ninny!" I retorted angrily. "You might have cut his jugular with your confounded foolishness. If——"
"S-s-sh, he's coming out of it!" she warned. "Start talking to him like a Dutch uncle; I'll be waiting in the study if you want me," and with a tattoo of high heels she left us with our patient.
"Nella! Is she all right?" Ned cried as he half roused from the surgery table. "We had an accident——"
"But certainly, Monsieur," de Grandin soothed. "You were driving past our house when a child ran out before your car and Mademoiselle was forced to swerve aside to keep from hitting it. You were cut about the face, but she escaped all injury. Here"—he raised a glass of brandy to the patient's lips—"drink this. Ah, so. That is better, n'est-ce-pas?"
For a moment he regarded Ned in silence, then, abruptly: "You are distrait, Monsieur. When we brought you in we were forced to give you a small whiff of ether while we patched your cuts, and in your delirium you said——"
The color which had come into Ned's
W. T—1
