"No, I have no right. I am no better than you."

Two or three hours later Dr. Saxon sat at his desk, when Agnes entered
and came silently and stood beside him. He did not look up, but asked
quietly:

"Well, have you packed him off?"

"No," she answered under her breath; "you know I haven't."

He smiled up at her. This gruff old man had a rare smile on occasion for
those he liked. And he said:

"Well, he isn't the worst they make; he's got spirit, and he can take a
drubbing, too, when it's deserved. I tried him pretty well. Didn't I
fire into him, though, hot shot!" He fairly grinned at the recollection.
"I had to, you know, to keep myself in countenance. I suppose I said
rather more than I meant--but don't you tell him so."

She smiled. "I have told him so already; I told him you didn't mean a
word you said."

"You presumptuous baggage!" The doctor scowled now. "Then you told him a
tremendous fib. I meant a deal of it. Well, he'll get his deserts yet,
if he gets you, you deceiving minx. I told him one thing that was true
enough, anyway"--he smiled broadly again--"I told him Mary was worth
half a dozen of you."

Agnes turned grave, and put down her head so that she hid her face.