didn't mean money, altogether," said the girl meditatively, "but the work itself; I don't see any future for you."
Morton was pleased with her interest. Reaching between his knees he seized the edge of the small sofa and dragged it a little nearer, quite unconscious that the act was distasteful to her.
Though twenty-five years old, Vivian was extremely young in many ways, and her introspection had spent itself in tending the inner shrine of his early image. That ikon was now jarringly displaced by this insistent presence, and she could not satisfy herself yet as to whether the change pleased or displeased her. Again and again his manner antagonized her, but his visible devotion carried an undeniable appeal, and his voice stirred the deep well of emotion in her heart.
"Look here, Vivian," he said, "you've no idea how it goes through me to have you speak like that! You see I've been knocking around here for all this time, and I haven't had a soul to take an interest. A fellow needs the society of good women—like you."
It is an old appeal, and always reaches the mark. To any women it is a compliment, and to a young girl, doubly alluring. As she looked at him, the very things she most disliked, his too free manner, his coarsened complexion, a certain look about the eyes, suddenly assumed a new interest as proofs of his loneliness and lack of right companionship. What Mrs. St. Cloud had told her of the ennobling influence of a true woman, flashed upon her mind.
"You see, I had no mother," he said simply—"and Aunt Rella spoiled me—." He looked now like the boy she used to know.
"Of course I ought to have behaved better," he admitted. "I was ungrateful—I can see it now. But it did seem to me I couldn't stand that town a day longer!"
She could sympathize with this feeling and showed it.
"Then when a fellow knocks around as I have so long, he gets to where he doesn't care a hang for anything. Seeing you again makes a lot of difference, Vivian. I think, perhaps—I could take a new start."
"Oh do! Do!" she said eagerly. "You're young enough, Morton. You can do anything if you'll make up your mind to it."
"And you'll help me?"
"Of course I'll help you—if I can," said she.
A feeling of sincere remorse for wasted opportunities rose in the young man's mind; also, in the presence of this pure-eyed girl, a sense of shame for his previous habits. He walked to the window, his hands in his pockets, and looked out blankly for a moment.
"A fellow does a lot of things he shouldn't," he began, clearing his throat; she met him more than half way with the overflowing generosity of youth and ignorance:
"Never mind what you've done, Morton—you're going to do differently now! Susie'll be so proud of you—and Aunt Orella!"
"And you?" He turned upon her suddenly.
"Oh—I? Of course! I shall be very proud of my old friend."
She met his eyes bravely, with a lovely look of hope and courage, and again his heart smote him.
"I hope you will," he said and straightened his broad shoulders manfully.
"Morton Elder!" cried his aunt, bustling in with deep concern in her voice, "What's this I hear about you're having a sore throat?"
"Nothing, I hope," said he cheerfully.
"Now, Morton"—Vivian showed new solicitude—"you know you have got a sore throat; Susie told me."
"Well, I wish she'd hold her tongue," he protested. "It's nothing at all—be all right in a jiffy. No, I won't take any of your fixings, Auntie."
"I want Dr. Bellair to look at it anyhow," said his aunt, anxiously. "She'll know if it's diphtheritic or anything. She's coming in."
"She can just go out again," he said with real annoyance. "If there's anything I've no use for it's a woman doctor!"
"Oh hush, hush!" cried Vivian, too late.
"Don't apologize," said Dr. Bellair from her doorway. "I'm not in the least offended. Indeed, I had rather surmised that that was your attitude; I didn't come in to prescribe, but to find Mrs. Pettigrew."
"Want me?" inquired the old lady from her doorway. "Who's got a sore throat?"
"Morton has," Vivian explained, "and he won't let Aunt Rella—why where is she?"
Miss Elder had gone out as suddenly as she had entered.
"Camphor's good for sore throat," Mrs. Pettigrew volunteered. "Three or four drops on a piece of sugar. Is it the swelled kind, or the kind that smarts?"
"Oh—Halifax!" exclaimed Morton, disgustedly. "It isn't any kind. I haven't a sore throat."
"Camphor's good for cold sores; you have one of them anyhow," the old lady persisted, producing a little bottle and urging it upon Morton. "Just keep it wet with camphor as often as you think of it, and it'll go away."
Vivian looked on, interested and sympathetic, but Morton put his hand to his lip and backed away.
"If you ladies don't stop trying to doctor me, I'll clear out to-morrow, so there!"
This appalling threat was fortunately unheard by his aunt, who popped in again at this moment, dragging Dr. Hale with her. Dr. Bellair smiled quietly to herself.
"I wouldn't tell him what I wanted him for, or he wouldn't have come, I'm sure—doctors are so funny," said Miss Elder, breathlessly, "but here he is. Now, Dr. Hale, here's a foolish boy who won't listen to reason, and I'm real worried about him. I want you to look at his throat."
Dr. Hale glanced briefly at Morton's angry face.
"The patient seems to be of age, Miss Elder; and, if you'll excuse me, does not seem to have authorized this call."
"My affectionate family are bound to have me an invalid," Morton explained. "I'm in imminent danger of hot baths, cold presses, mustard plasters, aconite, belladonna and quinine—and if I can once reach my hat—"
He sidled to the door and fled in mock terror.
"Thank you for your good intentions, Miss Elder," Dr. Hale remarked drily. "You can bring water to the horse, but you can't make him drink it, you see."
"Now that that young man has gone we might have a game of whist," Mrs. Pettigrew suggested, looking not ill-pleased.
"For which you do not need me in the least," and Dr. Hale was about to leave, but Dr. Bellair stopped him.
"Don't be an everlasting Winter woodchuck, Dick! Sit down and play; do be good. I've got to see old Mrs. Graham yet; she refuses to go to sleep without it—knowing I'm so near. By by."
Mrs. Pettigrew insisted on playing with Miss Elder, so Vivian had the questionable pleasure of Dr. Hale as a partner. He was an expert, used to frequent and scientific play, and by no means patient with the girl's mistakes.
He made no protest at a lost trick, but explained
