her, as Flemming had said.  The thought gave Lynde a shock.  He would not like to have the woman he loved such an actress as that.  Had Ruth revealed everything to the aunt, and was she too playing a part?  In her several allusions to Dr. Pendegrast Mrs. Denham had called him “the doctor” simply, or “an old friend of our family,” and never once pronounced his name.  “Was that accidental or intentional?” Lynde wondered.  “It was inevitable that he and I should meet sooner or later.  Was she endeavoring to keep the knowledge of Dr. Pendegrast from me as long as possible?  The exigency has unmasked her!”

“Now, Mr. Lynde, I am at your service.”

Lynde gave a start, as if the doctor had suddenly dropped down at his side from out of the sky.

Dr. Pendegrast pushed back his chair and led the way across the quadrangle, in which a number of persons were taking coffee at small tables set here and there under oleander-trees in green-painted tubs.  The smoking-room was unoccupied.  Lynde stood a moment undetermined in the centre of the apartment, and then he laid his hand on the doctor’s shoulder.

“You don’t remember me?”

“Ah, then I have seen you before!” exclaimed Dr. Pendegrast, transfixed in the act of drawing a cigar from his case.  “Your name and your face puzzled me, but I could not place you, so I didn’t mention it.  You must pardon an old man’s bad memory.  I am confused.  When and where have I had the pleasure of seeing you?”

“It was scarcely a pleasure,” said Lynde, with bitterness.

“Indeed!  I cannot imagine that; it is a pleasure now,” returned the doctor courteously.  “It was three years ago, at your asylum.  As you will recollect, I was brought there by mistake the day the patients”—­

“Bless me!” exclaimed the doctor, dropping the ignited match.  “How could I forget you!  I took such a great liking to you, too.  I have thought of that awkward affair a thousand times.  But, really, coming across you in this unexpected manner”—­

“I suppose I have changed somewhat,” Lynde broke in.  “Dr. Pendegrast, I am in a very strange position here.  It is imperative you should be perfectly frank with me.  You will have to overlook my abruptness.  Mr. Denham may return any instant, and what I have to say cannot be said in his presence.  I know that Miss Denham has been under your charge as a patient.  I want to know more than that bare circumstance.”

The doctor recoiled a step.  “Of course,” he said, recovering himself, “you must have recognized her.”

“I met your friends six or seven weeks ago at Geneva,” continued Lynde.  “I recognized Miss Denham at once; but later I came to doubt and finally to disbelieve that I had ever seen her elsewhere.  I refused to accept the testimony of my eyes and ears because—­because so much of my happiness depended on my rejecting it.”

“Does Mrs. Denham know that you are in possession of the fact you mention?  Denham of course doesn’t.”