"No, thank you, I would rather walk. Oh! Doctor, I am so much obliged to you."
In answer to Irene's knock, Electra opened the cottage door, and ushered her into the small room which served as both kitchen and dining-room. Everything was scrupulously neat, not a spot on the bare polished floor, not a speck to dim the purity of the snowy dimity curtains, and on the table in the centre stood a vase filled with fresh fragrant flowers. In a low chair before the open window sat the widow knitting a blue and white nubia. She glanced round as Irene entered.
"Who is it, Electra?"
"Miss Irene, aunt."
"Sit down, Miss Irene; how are you to-day?"
"Mrs. Aubrey, I am sorry to hear your eyes are no better."
"Thank you for your kind sympathy. My sight grows more dim every day."
"You shan't suffer much longer; these veils shall be taken off. Here is the money to enable you to go to New Orleans and consult that physician. As soon as the weather turns cooler you must start."
"Miss Irene, I cannot tax your generosity so heavily; I have no claim on your goodness. Indeed I——"
"Mrs. Aubrey, don't you think it is your duty to recover your sight if possible?"