The little hitch in her voice betrayed her grief; but, dear me! he was all interest now. He drew a chair close to the lounge, professional habit, no doubt, and ventured to touch one of the hands that supported the doleful looking handkerchief.
"Won't you let me see you? When did this happen?"
"Saturday. No, you can't see me; I've been crying an hour."
"Is the pain so great?"
Oh, no wonder this young M.D. was so popular if his voice was always thus tender and anxious in making inquiries.
"Pain! no, but," with a little hysterical sob, "I can't go to the picnic!"
Now you needn't smile at this frank explanation, for he did not. Bless you! no; he looked as if he had three minds to cry too, and if Mrs. Dering hadn't entered at that moment, there's no telling what he might have said by way of sympathy. As it was, he returned her cordial greeting, and began to express his regret in polite terms, but with much warmth of feeling that could not be concealed.
"Is it quite impossible, do you think? Lottie will be so disappointed;" he said, regardless of the fact that he was making Lottie do double duty, in the way of disappointment; but Bea took the remark in all good faith, and thought it was very sweet of Lottie to care whether she went or not.
"I don't know," answered Mrs. Dering, thoughtfully. "It was only a little twist, and she stood on it this morning, didn't you, Bea?"
"Yes, mama," said Bea, coming out from behind her handkerchief in eager interest. "I did for several minutes, and it didn't hurt hardly any."