"For the entire evening, Doris. Are the children sick?"
How like Martin that was! What most concerned and interested Doris was first in his thought.
Doris's face twitched.
"It's my friend," she said, slowly, "that I want. Not my physician."
"I'll be there in a half hour."
The soft drip of the rain outside was soothing. So happy did Doris feel that she wondered if her fears would not strike Martin as absurd, and after all, why should she lay her burden of confession upon him in order to ease her perplexity? Along this line she argued with herself while she ordered a tray to be sent up as soon as Doctor Martin arrived.
She gave particular instructions as to the preparation of the dainties Martin enjoyed but which no one but Doris ever set before him.
"I chose the shield of silence," she mused. "Why should I ask another to help me with it now?"
Still, in the end, her honest soul knew that it was not help for herself she was seeking, but guidance for the children whose best interests she must serve.
And then, as one looks back over the path he has travelled while he pauses before going on, Doris Fletcher saw how the love of David Martin had been transformed for her sake into friendship that it might brighten her way. She had never been able to give him what he desired, but so precious was she to him—and full well she knew it—that he had become her friend.