“Ever since her marriage, nearly eighteen months ago.”

That told him a good part of the story.  I felt his look boring me through.  Was I a mad woman?  Or some new kind of blackmailer?  Or, was I, possibly, a Claire?  I was grateful for my forty-cent bonnet and my forty-seven years.

“Naturally,” he said at length, “this information startles me.”

“When you have thought it over,” I responded, “you will realise that no possible motive could bring me here but concern for the welfare of my friend.”

He took a few moments to consider.  “That may be true, madame, but let me add that when you say you KNOW this——­”

He stopped.  “I MEAN that I know it,” I said, and stopped in turn.

“Has Mrs. van Tuiver herself any idea of this situation?”

“None whatever.  On the contrary, she was assured before her marriage that no such possibility existed.”

Again I felt him looking through me, but I left him to make what he could of my information.  “Doctor,” I continued, “I presume there is no need to point out to a man in your position the seriousness of this matter, both to the mother and to the child.”

“Certainly there is not.”

“I assume that you are familiar with the precautions that have to be taken with regard to the eyes of the child?”

“Certainly, madame.”  This with just a touch of HAUTEUR, and then, suddenly:  “Are you by any chance a nurse?”

“No,” I replied, “but many years ago I was forced by tragedy in my own family to realise the seriousness of the venereal peril.  So when I learned this fact about my friend, my first thought was that you should be informed of it.  I trust that you will appreciate my position.”

“Certainly, madame, certainly,” he made haste to say.  “You are quite right, and you may rest assured that everything will be done that our best knowledge directs.  I only regret that the information did not come to me sooner.”

“It only came to me about an hour ago,” I said, as I rose to leave.  “The blame, therefore, must rest upon another person.”

I needed to say no more.  He bowed me politely out, and I walked down the street, and realised that I was restless and wretched.  I wandered at random for a while. trying to think what else I could do, for my own peace of mind, if not for Sylvia’s welfare.  I found myself inventing one worry after another.  Dr. Overton had not said just when he was going, and suppose she were to need someone at once?  Or suppose something were to happen to him—­if he were to be killed upon the long train-journey?  I was like a mother who has had a terrible dream about her child—­she must rush and fling her arms about the child.  I realised that I wanted to see Sylvia!

She had begged me to come; and I was worn out and had been urged by the office to take a rest.  Suddenly I bolted into a store, and telephoned the railroad station about trains to Southern Florida.  I hailed a taxi-cab, rode to my home post-haste, and flung a few of my belongings into a bag and the waiting cab sped with me to the ferry.  In little more than two hours after Claire had told me the dreadful tidings, I was speeding on my way to Sylvia.