"Do not you?"
"Yes, but there are better things in the world than even trees and grass."
"Ah, yes," said Lesley, eagerly. Then, with a little smile, she added; as if quoting—"Souls of men."
"I was thinking of their bodies," said the young doctor. "But that's as it should be. You think of the spiritual, I only of the material side. Both sides ought to be considered that is where men and women meet, I take it."
"I suppose so," said Lesley, a little vaguely.
"I'm afraid," Maurice went on, "that it will be a long time before I have a country house of my own: a place where there will be trees and green meadows and flowers, such as one loves and sighs for. I have often thought"—with a note of agitation in his voice—"how much easier it would be to ask any one to share my life if I had these good things to offer. My only chance has been to find someone who cares—as I care—for the souls and bodies of the men and women around us; who would not disdain to help me in my work."
"Who could disdain it?" asked Lesley, innocently indignant.
"Do you mean"—turning suddenly upon her—"that you don't consider a hard working doctor's life something inexpressibly beneath you?"
She drew back a little hurt, a little bit astonished.
"Certainly not. Why should I?"