Evening public ledger. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1914-1942, 1922-09-27

e"ce 10 me-
was abject and ashamed. Startled,
too.
"You?" he said. "What have you
done You're the only thing that's
right In wrong world. YOU"
hie checked himself, put down his bag
he had just como in--and closed the
door into the hall. Then he>stood at a
safe distance from her and folded his
arms In order 10 be able to keep his
head--.which shows how strange the
English language is.
"Elizabeth." he said gravely, 1--WE
been self -centcred fool. stayed
away because I've been in trouble. I'm
sstlll In trouble. for that matter. But it
nasn anything to do with you. Not
directly, anyhow"
, Don t you think it's possible that l
know what it is?'
"You do know"
He was too absorbed to notice the
new maturity in her face, the brooding
maternity born of profound passion.
10 Elizabeth just then he was not a
nan, her man, daily deciding matters
OF life and death, but worried boy,
magnifying trihe into Importance.
There is always gossip" she said,
and the only thing one can do Is to
forget 1t at once. You ought to be
too big for that sort of thing"
"But-suppose it Is true?"
what difference would it make?'
lie made quick movement toward
her.
There may be more than that. I
don't know, Elizabeth he said. his
eyes on hers. II have always thought
i can't so to David now."
He was moved to so on. To tell her
OF his lost youth, Of that strange trick
by which his mind had shut off those
hidden years. But he could not. He
had a perfectly human fear Of being
abnormal in her eyes, precisely but
greatly magnifed the same instinct
which had made him inspect his new
tie In daylight for fear it was too bril-.
liant. But greater than that was his
new fear that something neither happy
nor right lay behind him under lock and
key in his memory.
II want you to know this. Dick"
she said. '"Ihat nothing, no gossip or
anything. can make any difference to
ne. And I've been terribly hurt.
We've been such friends. You--I've
oNCn d"dhe NJ HIRHI. WoTTt 1TR.
That went to his heart first and then
to his head. This might be all. all he
was ever to have. This hour and this
precious and tender child, so brave in
her declaration, so simple and direct;
all his world in that imitation ma.
hOgany chair.
you've all I've got" he said. THE
one real thing in world that's going
to smash. think love you more than
God"
The same mood of accepting what he
had without question and Of refusing to
look ahead actuated him for the next
few days. He was incredibly happy.
He went about his work with his
customary care and thoroughness. for
long practice had made it possible for
him to go on as though nothing had
happened, to listen to querulous COM
plants and long lists of symptoms and
to write without error those scrawled
which werc, so hopefully.
to cure. Not that Dick himself believed
greatly in those empirical doses. but
he considered that the expectation of
relief was half the battle. But that
was the mind of him, which went about
clothed in flesh. of course. and did its
daily and nightly work, and put up a
very fair imitation of DR.. Richard Liv-
Ingstone. But hidden away was heart
that behaved in a highly unprofessional
manner, and Gang and dreamed and
jumped at the sight of n certain small
figure on the street, and generally play
ed hob with systole and diastolc and the
cagus and arcelerator nerves. Which |
ar9 all any doctor really knows about |
The heart until he falls in love.
He even began to wonder IL he had
read into the situation something that !
vas not there, and in this his con-
,ciousness Of David's essential rectitude
helped him. David could not do
wrong thing or an unworthy one. He |
wished he we're more like David.
The new humility extended to his love
'or Elizabeth.
Sometimes, in his room or shaving |
before the bathroom mirror, he Won
iered what she could zee in him to care
about. He shaved twice a day now,
md his face was so sore that he had
% put cream on it at night, to his se-
ret humiliation. When he was dressed
!