"Oh, thank you, Morris! Kitty will like them, I am sure," Mrs. Lennox
said, taking from his hand a bouquet of the choice flowers which grew
only in the hothouse at Linwood. "Come in for a moment, please."

"No, thank you," the doctor replied. "There is a case of rheumatism just
over the hill, and I must not be idle if I would retain the practice
given to me. Not that I make anything but good will as yet, for only the
Silverton poor dare trust their lives in my inexperienced hands. But I
can afford to wait," and with another flash of the hazel eyes Morris
walked away a pace or two, but, as if struck with some sudden thought,
turned back, and fanning his heated face with his leghorn hat, said,
hesitatingly: "By the way, Uncle Ephraim's last payment on the old mill
falls due to-morrow. Tell him, if he says anything in your presence, not
to mind unless it is perfectly convenient. He must be somewhat
straitened just now, as Katy's trip cannot have cost him a small sum."

The clear, penetrating eyes were looking full at Mrs. Lennox, who for
a moment felt slightly piqued that Morris Grant should take so much
oversight of her uncle's affairs. It was natural, too, that he should,
she knew, for, widely different as were their tastes and positions in
life, there was a strong liking between the old man and the young, who,
from having lived nine years in the family, took a kindly interest in
everything pertaining to them.

"Uncle Ephraim did not pay the bills," Mrs. Lennox faltered at last,
feeling intuitively how Morris' delicate sense of propriety would shrink
from her next communication. "Mrs. Woodhull wrote that the expense
should be nothing to me, and as she is fully able, and makes so much of
Katy, I did not think it wrong."