"Aren't you back early, Dale ?" Dale threw off her wrap and stood for a moment patting back into its smooth, smart bob, hair ruffled by the wind.
"I was tired," she said, sinking into a chair.
"Not worried about anything ?" Miss Cornelia's eyes were sharp.
"No," said Dale without conviction, "but I've come here to be company for you and I don't want to run away all the time." She picked up the evening paper and looked at it without apparently seeing it.

Miss Cornelia heard voices in the hall--a man's voice--affable--"How have you been, Billy ?"--Billy's voice in answer, "Very well, sir." "Who's out there, Dale ?" she queried.
Dale looked up from the paper.

"Doctor Wells, darling," she said in a listless voice.

"He brought me over from the club; I asked him to come in for a few minutes.

Billy's just taking his coat." She rose, threw the paper aside, came over and kissed Miss Cornelia suddenly and passionately--then before Miss Cornelia, a little startled, could return the kiss, went over and sat on the settee by the fireplace near the door of the billiard room.
Miss Cornelia turned to her with a thousand questions on her tongue, but before she could ask any of them, Billy was ushering in Doctor Wells.
As she shook hands with the Doctor, Miss Cornelia observed him with casual interest--wondering why such a good-looking man, in his early forties, apparently built for success, should be content with the comparative rustication of his local practice.