The last one, a week ago, made the fourth, didn't it?" "I don't know. I seldom read the papers. They are too horrible." "I will gladly escort you if--" "I could n't think of troubling you," she protested, starting at once for the door. "I 'm in the machine, so I 'm quite safe. Good night." With a nod and smile to both men she went out. Donaldson himself prepared to go at once. "Well, old man," he apologized nervously to the chemist, "pardon me for boring you so long. It is bad taste I know for a man to air such views as mine, but it has done me good." "Take my advice and forget them yourself. Go into the country. Loaf a little in the sunshine. Stay a week. I 'm going off for a while myself." "You leave--" "Within a few days, possibly. I can't tell." "Well, s' long and a pleasant trip to you." Donaldson gripped the older man's hand. The latter gazed at him affectionately, apprehensively. "See here, Peter," he broke out earnestly. "There is one thing even better for you than the country, a thing that includes the sunshine and everything else worth while in life. I have hesitated about mentioning it, but this girl who was here made me think of it again. You know I 'm not a sentimental man, Peter?" "Unless you have changed. But your panacea?" "Love." "That's a generic term." "Just plain human love, love for a woman like this one who was here. I wish you knew her. She 'd be good for you; she 'd give your present self-centred life a broader meaning." Donaldson turned away. "Barstow," he replied uneasily, "you 're good,--good clear through, but we move in different worlds. It is n't in me to love as you mean. I 'm too critical, which is to say too selfish."