“Oh, I’m quite helpless,” said Dr. Ferris; “I realize that.”

“Spoken like a man,” said Blizzard.  “And to show that my nature isn’t entirely cruel, I’ll tell you for your comfort that in Miss Barbara’s presence the bad man is a very decent sort.  We are almost friends, Doctor, she and I. She talks to me as if I were her equal.  As for me, in this studio I have learned the habit of innocent thought.  Only yesterday I took pleasure in the idea that in the world there are birds, and flowers, and green fields.”

The beggar’s eyes glittered with a sardonic look.  He watched the surgeon as a tiger might watch a stag.  There was quite a long silence.  Dr. Ferris broke it.

“For God’s sake,” he said with great energy, “tell me one truth.  Is it part of your scheme of life to revenge yourself on me through my daughter?”

Blizzard raised a soothing hand.  “Dr. Ferris,” he said, “what would cause you suffering would cause her suffering.  So, you see, I am tied hand and—­Pardon me!  I shouldn’t now think of hurting you through her unless it might be for her own happiness.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Then you don’t understand the hearts of women.  Then you know nothing of the heights to which even fallen men can raise their eyes.”

“What are you telling me?”

“Very little—­very much.  Perhaps I love your daughter.”

Horror and loathing swept into the surgeon’s eyes, but he controlled himself.  “Mr. Blizzard,” said he presently, “I find it hard to take you seriously. Are you joking?  Whether you are or not, the thing is a joke.  If you really care for my daughter, I am very, very sorry for you.  I can’t say more.  If nothing worse threatens her than the possibility of her heart being touched by you, there is no need for me to be anxious about her.  As for telling her the truth about you and me, why not?”

“You tell her.”

“I will.  To-night”

“Won’t you be playing into my hands?”

“No,” said the surgeon curtly, “she has too much common-sense.”

“But you won’t tell her what I’ve said?” The beggar was suddenly anxious.

“No,” and Dr. Ferris smiled, “I may safely leave that to you.”

“Damnation,” cried Blizzard, “you are laughing at me.”

Dr. Ferris’s face became serious at once.  “God forbid that!” he said.  “If you have spoken sincerely I feel only sorrow for you and pity—­more sorrow and pity for you even than I ever felt before.”

“S-s-s-s-t,” exclaimed the beggar, and his ears twitched.  “She’s coming.”

“I shall wait,” said Dr. Ferris, “and take her uptown, when she has finished working.”

“Well,” said Blizzard, with a kind of humorous resignation, “I’d kick you out if I could; but I can’t.”  And he added:  “You haven’t got an extra pair of legs about you, have you?”

“Why!” said Barbara when she saw her father.  “Art is looking up. You in a studio!”