for an instant and she felt a great weakness wash over her.
"Won't you sit down?" His voice was close as he placed a chair in the center of the room. He looked at her intently.
She sat down and looked about her. It was a simple square room with a desk and three leather chairs. There were books on wall shelves and on the floor lay a beautiful rug. As she came into the room, she now recalled, her feet had sunk into the thick, enveloping pile. For an instant she felt a peculiar fear as her eyes lighted on a small white sink in a far corner.
"Miss Beals," he was saying. He had sat down at his desk and now studied her across its mahogany expanse.
"Can I . . . can I do anything for you, Dr. Smith?" she asked hesitantly, finding it all at once utterly without reason that he had asked her to his office.
"You may answer a question," he said slowly. "Why are you giving me so much of your attention? Is there something about me which puzzles you?"
Struck dumb by embarrassment, she stared at him.
"Well, Sara?" he asked.
And that startled her. His calling her Sara made her wary.
"I don't mean to be rude. Doctor," she said, summoning all her courage, "but I believe you are just imagining things. Surgery is my chief interest in life. I can't help being interested in the surgeons too."
Slowly Dr. Smith shook his head, and pursed his lips.
"No," he said quietly.
Nervously she stood up, her gloved hands clutching her bag.
"I'm sorry. I'll have to go," she faltered.
"Sit down, Sara," he said.
His voice was not a command, but she resumed her seat. She found suddenly that she could not take her eyes from his.
"We must talk," he went on. There was a new gentleness in his tone, but paradoxically she became more frightened as his voice continued to soothe her. "Some people go through life without awareness. I believe you are one of those gifted with a great awareness."
For an instant, she closed her eyes, wanting the safety of darkness so that she need not look at him. She was in danger. What the nature of that danger was, she had no idea. One thing was certain. She ought not to have come. She could have pleaded an engagement. She ought not to have come. . . .
"Sara, how old are you?"
"Forty-one," she said automatically. Was he going to tell her she was getting too old for her work? Alarm made breathing difficult.
"Young enough," Dr. Smith said reflectively. He was silent for a moment, then turned to draw up a chair. There were no more than three or four feet separating
