“By the way,” he began, “speaking of what a family physician has to do reminds me that I want to ask your advice.”
“My advice?” she echoed, with the light little laugh that thrilled through him always. “Why, I don’t know anything about medicine.”
“It isn’t a professional consultation I want,” he answered, laughing himself, “it’s friendly counsel. Don’t you remember that when you told me you couldn’t love me you went on to say you hoped we should always be good friends?”
“Yes,” she responded, calmly, “I remember that. And I hope that if I can really show any friendliness in any way, you will let me.”
“That’s what I am coming to,” he returned. “You know, I’ve been helping Dr. Cheever as a sort of third man while Dr. Aspinwall has been ill? Well, Dr. Aspinwall isn’t getting any better, and he’s got to quit for a year, anyhow. So Dr. Cheever is going to take me with him—”
“Oh, I’m so glad!” she broke in, heartily. “That’s splendid for you, isn’t it?”
“It will be splendid for me if I can keep the place and do the work to his satisfaction,” he answered.
“Oh, I guess Dr. Cheever knows what he is about,” retorted the girl, gaily. “He knows how clever you are.”
“Thank you,” the young man returned. “I felt sure you would be pleased, because you have always been so kind to me.”
He hesitated for a moment, and then continued: “I feel as if I owe you an apology—”