Salis obeyed, and glanced at Leo, whose face was hidden by her book, before stooping down lower to accept the proffered kiss.
“My dear old brother,” whispered Mary, gliding her soft, white arm about his neck, “don’t talk like that. Neglect! My memory is too well stored with your deeds to accept that word. Why, your life here has been one long career of self-denial.”
“Oh, nonsense!”
“Of deeds of charity, of nights spent by sick-beds, facing death and the most infectious diseases. How much of your stipend do you ever spend upon yourself or us?”
“Well, not much, Mary,” he said, with his perplexed look deepening. “You see, there are so many poor.”
“Who would rise up in revolt if you were to leave.”
“Yes, I suppose so, dear; but I have been very remiss lately and extravagant.”
“Hartley!”—reproachfully.
“Well, I have, dear. I’ve smoked a great deal—and fished.”
“At your medical man’s desire; to give you strength; to refresh you for your work.”