ly, just as the doctor and Barton Holt
reached the door of the drawing-room. The elder of the two, Doctor
John, greeted Jane as if she had been a duchess, bowing low as he
approached her, his eyes drinking in her every movement; then, after a
few words, remembering the occasion as being one in honor of Lucy, he
walked slowly toward the young girl.

"Why, Lucy, it's so delightful to get you back!" he cried, shaking her
hand warmly. "And you are looking so well. Poor Martha has been on pins
and needles waiting for you. I told her just how it would be--that
she'd lose her little girl--and she has," and he glanced at her
admiringly. "What did she say when she saw you?"

"Oh, the silly old thing began to cry, just as they all do. Have you
seen her dog?"

The answer jarred on the doctor, although he excused her in his heart
on the ground of her youth and her desire to appear at ease in talking
to him.

"Do you mean Meg?" he asked, scanning her face the closer.

"I don't know what she calls him--but he's the ugliest little beast I
ever saw."

"Yes--but so amusing. I never get tired of watching him. What is left
of him is the funniest thing alive. He's better than he looks, though.
He and Rex have great times together."

"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 i