CHAPTER IX.
The day before the wedding, little Mrs.George Dexter Tresslyn, satisfactorily shorn of her appendix and on the rapid road to recovery that is traveled only by the perfectly healthy of mankind, confided to her doctor that the mystery of the daily bunch of roses was solved.

They represented the interest and attention of her ex-husband, and, while they were unaccompanied by a single word from him, they also signified devotion.
"Which means that he is still making love to you ?" said Thorpe, with mock severity.
"Clandestinely," said she, with a lovely blush and a curious softening of her eyes.

She was wondering how this big, strong friend of hers would take the information, and how far she could go in her confidences without adventuring upon forbidden territory.

Would he close the gates in the wall that guarded his own opinions of the common foe, or would he let her inside long enough for a joint discussion of the condition that confronted both of them: the Tresslyn nakedness?
"He has been inquiring about me twice a day by telephone, Doctor, and this morning he was down stairs.

My night nurse knows him by sight.