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Dr. Parkman did not seem at all surprised
at seeing her alone, which flamed the fire anew.
"He hasn't backed out?" he demanded, laughing a little.
She explained with considerable dignity that her husband had been
detained at the laboratory, that he regretted it exceedingly, but would
be with them just as soon as circumstances permitted.
He took her into his private office, and Ernestine was too sincere a
lover of beautiful things to be wholly miserable in a room like that.
"Why, this doesn't look like an office," she exclaimed. "It's more like a
pet room in a beautiful home."
He laughed, not mirthfully.
"I hardly think you could call it that, but this is where I spend a good
deal of my time, so I tried to make it livable."
He was busy at his desk, and she watched his hands. She was thinking that
she would like to paint a picture and call it "The Surgeon." She would
leave the man's face and figure in shadow, concentrating the light upon
those hands, letting them tell their own story.


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