"Nancy's winter in town. She must have loads of pretty things, and I will open the old house—perhaps we can lure Joan also, and have the time of our lives. How would you like that Nan, girl?"
The tone was pleading, almost imploring. Doris had a sense of having wronged the girl, somehow.
"Oh, Aunt Dorrie, I should love it!" Nancy came across the room, all suggestion of age gone. "That is—if it will not harm you, dear."
"I think it would do you both good," Martin spoke earnestly; "I begin to realize what you once said, Doris. One has to have the country in his blood to be of the country. You must have change and"—turning to Nancy—"give this child a chance to—to show off."
He reached out and pinched Nancy's pale cheek.
"Run out," he commanded, suddenly; "run out into the sunshine and forget the storm. You're exactly like your aunt—conquer it, conquer it, child, while conquering is part of the programme."
Nancy managed a smile, leaned and kissed Doris, waved a salute to Martin, and fled from the room.
"David, somehow I've hurt that girl." Doris spoke wearily.
"How?" Martin questioned.
Doris looked up and shook her head.