“Are you talking of Mrs. Maynard?” asked Grace.

“They are all saying that you ought to give up the case to Dr. Mulbridge.  But I hope you won’t.  I should n’t blame you for calling in another female physician”—­

“Thank you,” answered Grace.  “There is no danger of her dying.  But it seems to me that she has too many female physicians already.  In this house I should think it better to call a man.”  She left the barb to rankle in Miss Gleason’s breast, and followed her mother to her room, who avenged Miss Gleason by a series of inquisitional tortures, ending with the hope that, whatever she did, Grace would not have that silly creature’s blood on her hands.  The girl opened her lips to attempt some answer to this unanswerable aspiration, when the unwonted sound of wheels on the road without caught her ear.

“What is that, Grace?” demanded her mother, as if Grace were guilty of the noise.

“Mr. Libby,” answered Grace, rising.

“Has he come for you?”

“I don’t know.  But I am going down to see him.”

At sight of the young man’s face, Grace felt her heart lighten.  He had jumped from his buggy, and was standing at his smiling ease on the piazza steps, looking about as if for some one, and he brightened joyfully at her coming.  He took her hand with eager friendliness, and at her impulse began to move away to the end of the piazza with her.  The ladies had not yet descended to the beach; apparently their interest in Dr. Breen’s patient kept them.

“How is Mrs. Maynard this morning?” he asked; and she answered, as they got beyond earshot,—­

“Not better, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said the young man.  “Then you won’t be able to drive with me this morning?  I hope she is n’t seriously worse?” he added, recurring to Mrs. Maynard at the sight of the trouble in Grace’s face.

“I shall ask to drive with you,” she returned.  “Mr. Libby, do you know where Corbitant is?”

“Oh, yes.”

“And will you drive me there?”

“Why, certainly!” he cried, in polite wonder.

“Thank you.”  She turned half round, and cast a woman’s look at the other women.  “I shall be ready in half an hour.  Will you go away, and comeback then?  Not sooner.”

“Anything you please, Miss Breen,” he said, laughing in his mystification.  “In thirty minutes, or thirty days.”

They went back to the steps, and he mounted his buggy.  She sat down, and taking some work from her pocket, bent her head over it.  At first she was pale, and then she grew red.  But these fluctuations of color could not keep her spectators long; one by one they dispersed and descended the cliff; and when she rose to go for her hat the last had vanished, with a longing look at her.  It was Miss Gleason.

Grace briefly announced her purpose to her mother, who said, “I hope you are not doing anything impulsive”; and she answered, “No, I had quite made up my mind to it last night.”