"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."