No sooner was the way made clear, by the removal of Bergan and Astra, than Doctor Remy began to visit assiduously at Oakstead; taking good care, at first, that the object of these visits should seem to be anything but Carice. He came to discuss local politics or town hygiene¹ with Mr. Bergan; or he sought to interest his wife in some newly discovered object of charity. By and by, it was a mere² matter of pleasant habit, apparently³, that he stopped at Oakstead four or five times a week, as he came and went on his professional rounds.

If Carice was absent, on these occasions, he never asked for her; if she was present, he rarely addressed his conversation to her; nevertheless he weighed every word, and shaped every sentence, with artful reference to its effect upon her ear and mind. Every resource of his tact⁴ and skill was exhausted⁵, in his effort to attract and keep the attention of the fair, silent girl, sitting in the shadow, with the drooping⁶ head, and the patient, preoccupied⁷ face.

It was long ere he could congratulate himself upon any measure of success. The little that Carice had hitherto known of Doctor Remy, she had intuitively disliked. She now acknowledged that she had scarcely done him justice in her thought; or he had changed since then. Occasionally, in his mention of his poorer patients, there peeped out traits of thoughtful kindness and generosity,—or something that looked like them,—for which she would never have given him credit. She was glad to know that he was better than he had seemed. But here the matter ended, so far as she was concerned. She did not care for him, personally; she shunned⁸ his visits, as much as possible; when compelled to be present, she oftenest sat a little apart, thinking her own thoughts over her

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