"Why, what's the matter, Traverse? What are you thinking of so intently?"
"Of your great goodness, sir, among other things."
"Tut! let's hear no more of that. I pleased myself," said the doctor; "and now, Traverse, let's go to work decently and in order. But first let me settle this point—if your good little mother determines in our favor, Traverse, then, of course, you will live with us also, so I shall have my young medical assistant always at hand. That will be very convenient; and then we shall have no more long, lonesome evenings, Clara, shall we, dear? And now, Traverse, I will mark out your course of study and set you to work at once."
"Shall I leave the room, father?" inquired Clara.
"No, no, my dear; certainly not. I have not had you home so long as to get tired of the sight of you yet! No, Clare, no; you are not in our way—is she, Traverse?"
"Oh, sir, the idea—" stammered Traverse, blushing deeply to be so appealed to.
In his way! Why, a pang had shot through his bosom at the very mention of her going.
"Very well, then. Here, Traverse, here are your books. You are to begin with this one; keep this medical dictionary at hand for reference. Bless me, it will bring back my student days to go over the ground with you, my boy."
Clara took her work-box and sat down to stitch a pair of dainty wristbands for her father's shirts.
The doctor took up the morning papers.