heightened color and a quickened breath--which told at least herself how
easily the "no" might have been a "yes."

Dr. Littlejohn was young and poor, and he had only his profession, for
all he was heir to one of the richest women on the avenue; and Margaret
refused to burden him with what she knew it would mean to marry her. In
spite of argument, therefore, and a pair of earnest brown eyes that
pleaded even more powerfully, she held to her convictions and continued
to say no.

All this, however, did not prevent Dr. Littlejohn from making frequent
visits to the Whitmore home, and always his coming meant joy to three
weary, troubled hearts. To-day he brought a great handful of pink
carnations and dropped them into the lap of the blind woman.

"Sweets to the sweet!" he cried gayly, as he patted the slim hand on the
arm of the chair.

"Doctor Ned--you dear boy! Oh, how lovely!" exclaimed Mrs. Whitmore,
burying her face in the fragrant flowers. "And, doctor, I want to speak
to you," she broke off earnestly. "I want you to talk to Meg and Kathie.
Perhaps they will listen to you. I want them to go out more. Tell them,
please, that I don't need them all the time now."

"Dear me, how independent we are going to be!" laughed the doctor. "And
so we don't need any more attention now, eh?"

"Betty will do."

"Betty?" It was hard, sometimes, for the doctor to remember.