Almost he was believing that he _was_ doing good work.

It was not the "Face of a Girl," now.

It was the face of a baby: smiling, laughing, even crying, sometimes; at other times just gazing straight into your eyes with adorable soberness.

Bertram still went into Boston twice a week for treatment, though the treatment itself had changed.

The great surgeon had sent him to still another specialist.
"There's a chance--though perhaps a small one," he had said.