"No 'perhaps' to it," declared the doctor,—"if the boat gets here. You don't suppose she's going to delay any longer now, do you? Besides, isn't she starting for America about as soon as she can? Does that look as if she were losing much time?"
"No, it doesn't," she admitted laughingly.
The doctor and his sister were not surprised to see a very lovely and charming Helen with the distinction and mellow maturity that the dozen intervening years had brought. Her letters had shown them something of that. But they were not prepared for the changes those same years had wrought in Dorothy Elizabeth.
To Helen, their frank start of amazement and quick interchange of glances upon first sight of the girl were like water to a long-parched throat.
"You do think she's lovely?" she whispered to the frankly staring doctor, as Mrs. Thayer welcomed the young girl.
"Lovely! She's the most beautiful thing I ever saw!" avowed the doctor, with a laughing shrug at his own extravagance.
"And she's just as sweet and dear as she is lovely," whispered back the adoring mother, as the girl turned to meet the doctor.
"You've your mother's eyes, my dear," said the doctor, very much as he had said it to the little Betty years before.
"Have I?" The girl smiled happily. "I'm so glad! I love mother's eyes."
It was not until hours later, when Betty had gone to bed, that there was any opportunity to talk over plans. Then, before the fire in the library, Helen found herself alone with the doctor and his sister.