"Home again, father!" she said.
And then he looked up smiling, and stroked her little sallow face with one finger.
"This is my very dearest friend—Dorothea Bruce!" said Alma delightedly, and drawing Dot forward.
The great doctor, who was small in stature, stood up then and took little Dot's hand in his, and a very kindly smile came to his eyes as he looked into her lovely childish face.
"I'm very glad to see my daughter's dearest friend," he said, and he patted her soft pink cheeks also.
The door opened again just as this introduction was over, and a new nervousness attacked Alma. Another tinge of yellowness crept into her skin, her eyes grew wistful, and she began to stammer.
"My f-friend, mother—Thea—Dorothea Bruce," and Dot turned curiously and shyly round to the door. Entering there was a very beautiful woman in a tea gown. Her eyes were like Alma's, only far lovelier, her complexion was only a few years less fresh and perfect than Dorothea's own—and her hair was red-gold and beautiful.
When her glance rested on Dorothea's face, a look of pleasure crept into them—just pleasure at seeing any one so flower-like and sweet as this little maid from school.
"I am very pleased to see you, dear," she said graciously, and she stooped forward and kissed the girl's cheek.
Then she looked at Alma—poor undersized Alma, with her yellow skin and bloodless lips—and she sighed. But she kissed her also, and asked how she had spent her morning and whether she had come from school this morning or yesterday afternoon.