“I just called,” he said placatively, smiling as if some humour lurked in his intention, “to ask how your father is.  I heard downtown he wasn’t getting along quite so well.”

“He’s better this morning, thanks,” said Cora, preparing to close the door.

“I thought I’d just stop and ask about him.  I heard he’d had another bad spell—­kind of a second stroke.”

“That was night before last.  The doctor thinks he’s improved very much since then.”

The door was closing; he coughed hastily, and detained it by speaking again.  “I’ve called several times to inquire about him, but I believe it’s the first time I’ve had the pleasure of speaking to you, Miss Madison.  I’m Mr. Pryor.”  She appeared to find no comment necessary, and he continued:  “Your father did a little business for me, several years ago, and when I was here on my vacation, this summer, I was mighty sorry to hear of his sickness.  I’ve had a nice bit of luck lately and got a second furlough, so I came out to spend a couple of weeks and Thanksgiving with my married daughter.”

Cora supposed that it must be very pleasant.

“Yes,” he returned.  “But I was mighty sorry to hear your father wasn’t much better than when I left.  The truth is, I wanted to have a talk with him, and I’ve been reproaching myself a good deal that I didn’t go ahead with it last summer, when he was well, only I thought then it mightn’t be necessary—­might be disturbing things without much reason.”

“I’m afraid you can’t have a talk with him now,” she said.  “The doctor says——­”

“I know, I know,” said Pryor, “of course.  I wonder”—­he hesitated, smiling faintly—­“I wonder if I could have it with you instead.”

“Me?”

“Oh, it isn’t business,” he laughed, observing her expression.  “That is, not exactly.”  His manner became very serious.  “It’s about a friend of mine—­at least, a man I know pretty well.  Miss Madison, I saw you driving out through the park with him, yesterday noon, in an automobile.  Valentine Corliss.”

Cora stared at him.  Honesty, friendliness, and grave concern were disclosed to her scrutiny.  There was no mistaking him:  he was a good man.  Her mouth opened, and her eyelids flickered as from a too sudden invasion of light—­the look of one perceiving the close approach of a vital crisis.  But there was no surprise in her face.

“Come in,” she said.

* * *

. . . .  When Corliss arrived, at about eleven o’clock that morning, Sarah brought him to the library, where he found Cora waiting for him.  He had the air of a man determined to be cheerful under adverse conditions:  he came in briskly, and Cora closed the door behind him.

“Keep away from me,” she said, pushing him back sharply, the next instant.  “I’ve had enough of that for a while I believe.”

He sank into a chair, affecting desolation.  “Caresses blighted in the bud!  Cora, one would think us really married.”