Paul Colbert in his utter amazement took the hand which Philip Alston held out.  He could not have refused it had there been time to think, for her eyes were on him, and there was no doubting her affection for Philip Alston; that shone like sunlight on her face and thrilled in every tender tone of her voice.  The young doctor could scarcely believe the evidence of his own eyes and ears.  This Philip Alston!  It was incredible, impossible; there was certainly some mistake.  Nevertheless he hastily withdrew his hand and Philip Alston noted the haste, understanding it as well as Paul Colbert himself.  His own manner was quiet and calm, showing none of the irritation which he felt at William Pressley’s negligence.  He lost none of his graciousness through seeing the young doctor’s involuntary recoil.  His intuitions were unerring; he knew instantly that this newcomer was already acquainted with the stories told about himself, but he cared little for that.  He was considering the interference with his plans which might come from the sudden appearance of a young man of this young doctor’s looks and intelligence.  Hardly half a dozen commonplace remarks had been exchanged between them before he had recognized the unusual power of mind and body which he might soon have to contend with.  He turned and looked at William Pressley and then back at Paul Colbert with a clouded brow, but he glanced down with a smile when Ruth touched his arm.

“Dearest uncle Philip,” she said, “I am so—­so—­glad that you have come.  You are just in time to dance with me.  You did once, you know, at the May party, and none of the other girls had so courtly a partner.  They couldn’t have because I wouldn’t let them have you.  I should be jealous if you were to dance with any one else, and there is no one anywhere like you.”

Looking up with her eyes full of affection she took his hand and pressed it against her pink cheek.  At the sight a stab of pain and a thrill of fear went through the doctor’s perplexed thoughts.  He suddenly realized that the girl’s life was closely bound up with this man’s.  He felt that any distrust of him must wound her, and although he still knew nothing of the bond between them, he saw that there could be no question of its being very close and strong.  His first impulse was to try to persuade himself that the suspicion against Philip Alston might be unfounded; as it was certainly unproven.  And then, finding himself unable to do this, he felt tempted to put the whole problem of the man’s guilt or innocence aside, as no concern of his own.  It is always the lover’s temptation to shut his eyes when he must choose between the neglect of duty and the wounding of the woman he loves.  And alas! this is a choice that comes sooner or later, in one form or another, to all who love.  The woman sometimes can find an invisible thread leading through the labyrinth of the feminine conscience which may help her to follow a middle course.  The man never has any such subtle resource and he knows, from first to last, that he must do what is wrong if he does not do what is right.