“My little girl!” said Eunice softly.
Fidelia hid her face on her sister’s shoulder, and no word was spoken for a minute or two. Then they went into the house, and Fidelia said, with a little laugh,—
“I got homesick at the last minute, dear, and so I came home.”
“All right, dear. If you could spare the time, it was right to come. I am very glad.”
The doctor got his buttermilk and cream as well, but he sat still, seeming in no hurry to go away. He listened, and put in a word now and then, but listened chiefly. He lost no tone or movement of either; and when Fidelia went, at her sister’s bidding, to take off her bonnet and shawl, he rose and took the elder sister’s hand, putting his finger on her pulse.
“Are you as well as usual these days, Eunice?” said he.
For an instant she seemed to shrink away from him, and would not meet his eye. Then she said, speaking very slowly and gently,—
“I cannot say that I am quite as well as usual. I meant to see you in a day or two. Now I will wait a little longer.”
“Had you better wait?”
“Yes, I think so. I am not going to spoil Fidelia’s pleasure, now that she is at home for a few days, and I will wait. It won’t really make any difference.”