"I wish you would take him, then. I told Martha
this morning that he mustn't poke his nose into my
room, and he won't. He's a perfect fright."

"But the dear old woman loves him," he protested
with a tender tone in his voice, his eyes fixed
on Lucy.

He had looked into the faces of too many young
girls in his professional career not to know something
of what lay at the bottom of their natures.
What he saw now came as a distinct surprise.

"I don't care if she does," she retorted; "no, I
don't," and she knit her brow and shook her pretty
head as she laughed.

While they stood talking Bart Holt, who had
lingered at the threshold, his eyes searching for the
fair arrival, was advancing toward the centre of the
room. Suddenly he stood still, his gaze fixed on the
vision of the girl in the clinging dress, with the blossoms
resting on her breast. The curve of her back,
the round of the hip; the way her moulded shoulders
rose above the lace of her bodice; the bare, full
arms tapering to the wrists;--the color, the movement,
the grace of it all had taken away his breath.
With only a side nod of recognition toward Jane,
he walked straight to Lucy and with an "Excuse
me," elbowed the doctor out of the way in his eagerness