"My Jean is a well-born and well-bred woman," he said, slowly. "It is
a thing that money can't buy."

"Money buys a very good counterfeit. Lots of the women who come here
aren't ladies, not in the sense that you mean it, but on the surface
you can't tell them apart."

He knew that it was true. No one knows better than a doctor what is
beneath the veneer of social convention and personal hypocrisy.

"And as for Jean," her quiet voice analyzed, "what do you know of her,
really? You've kept her shut away from the things that could hurt her,
but how do you know what will happen when you open the gate?"

Yet Emily had said--? His hand came down on top of the desk. "I think
we won't discuss Jean."

"Very well, but you brought it on yourself. And now please go away,
I've got to finish this and get back--"

He went reluctantly, and returned to say, "You'll come over again
before I sail, and straighten things out for me?"

"Of course."

"You don't act as if you cared whether I went or not."

"I care, of course. But don't expect me to cry. I am not the crying
kind." The little room was full of sunlight. She was very pink and
white and self-possessed. She smiled straight up into his face. "What