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Rh suspicion in her mind. If I showed the slightest regard for Rita my prestige as family doctor was gone.

"When do you think you will allow him out of bed?" asked his sister—a seriously-dressed lady in tailor-made coat and skirt, and with a hard, most unpleasant expression on her face.

"He's slow in picking up," I answered, "but the nursing is just now everything. I must congratulate you on your knowledge of such work. The way you manage him is really wonderful."

He was still quite unable to do anything by himself alone, and required constant help.

"I ought to warn you," I continued, "against the possible risk of a relapse. Such things are not uncommon in cases like this."

"Oh, doctor, I do hope not," chimed in the mother. "He is getting every attention, and we are doing all we can. Your instructions are being carried out to the very letter."

This was what I was anxious to know, as the idea in my mind made time, punctuality, that is to say, the essential factor.

I had another long talk with Rita on the subject of her husband's decease, and ultimately the innate devil in her broke through the