He handed her the prescription presently, and she arose at once. He stepped forward to open the outer door for her.
“I hope you no longer feel alarmed over her health,” he remarked, with a hand on the knob.
“No; you have made us feel there was no cause for it. But for your method I am afraid there might have been.”
“Thank you; but do not think anything of the kind. Your nursing was as potent a factor as my directions. It is not Congress, but the people, who make the country, you know.”
“That is condescending, coming from Congress,” she laughed gayly; “but I must disclaim the compliment, I am sorry to say; my nursing was only a name.”
“As you please. Miss Levice, may I beg a rose of you? No, not all. Well, thank you, they will look wonderful in a certain room I am thinking of.”
“Yes?” There was a note of inquiry in the little word in reply to Kemp’s pointed remark spoken as with a sudden purpose.
“Yes,” he continued, leaning his back against the door and looking earnestly down at the tall girl; “the room of a lad without even the presence of a mother to make it pretty;” he paused as if noting the effect of his words. “He is as lonely and uncomplaining as a tree would be in a desert; these roses will be quite a godsend to him.” He finished his sentence pleasantly at sight of the expression of sympathy in the lovely brown eyes.
“Do you think he would care to see any one?”
“Well,” replied the doctor, slowly, “I think he would not mind seeing you.”