"There's nothing improper in it, is there?" said Doctor Stedman.
"Really, my dear James," said Miss Phœbe, bending a literally awful brow on her guest, "I trust not. Do you mean to imply that the conversation of gentlewomen of my aunt's age is apt to be improper?"
"No, no," said Doctor Stedman, easily. "It only seemed to me that you were making a good deal of Mrs. Tree's little eccentricities. But, Phœbe, you said something a few minutes ago that I was very glad to hear. It is pleasant to know that I am still your family physician. That young fellow who went off the other day seems to have taken every heart in the village in his pocket. A young rascal!"
Miss Phœbe colored and drew herself up.
"Sister Phœbe," Miss Vesta breathed rather than spoke, "James is in jest. He has the highest opinion of—"
"Vesta, I think I have my senses," said Miss Phœbe, kindly. "I have heard James use exaggerated language before. Candor compels me to admit, James, that I have benefited greatly by the advice and prescriptions of Doctor Strong; also that, though deploring certain aspects of his conduct while under our roof—I will say no more, having reconciled myself entirely to the outcome of the matter—we have become deeply attached to him. He is"—Miss Phœbe's voice quavered slightly—"he is a chosen spirit."
"Dear Geoffrey!" murmured Miss Vesta.
"But in spite of this," Miss Phœbe continued, graciously, "we feel the ties of ancient friendship as strongly as ever, James, and must always value you highly, whether as physician or as friend."
"Yes, indeed, dear James," said Miss Vesta, softly.
Doctor Stedman rose from his seat. His eyes were very tender as he looked at the sisters from under his shaggy eyebrows.