When she reached home, and came in out of the cold dusk into the firelit hall, this divine intention of loving shone on her face with a beautiful solemnity. Her seriousness was so marked that her mother, who was just saying good evening to a departing caller, noticed it and said, with some anxiety:—
“My dear, there is nothing the matter, I hope?”
“No, mother darling,” the girl reassured her, with a glance at the tall fellow who stood with his hat and stick in his hand, waiting for Mrs. Wharton’s bow.
“Sara, my dear, this is Dr. Morse. My daughter, Dr. Morse.”
“I ventured to come and tell a sad story to your mother, Miss Wharton,” said the young man, “a dispensary story. I’ve just come on duty at the dispensary; but Mrs. Wharton’s kindness was so proverbial, that when I stumbled on a hard case, I came at once to tell her about it.”
“I’ve no doubt she was delighted to hear of it,” Sara said; “mother would really be dreadfully unhappy if everybody was prosperous; her occupation would be gone.”
“Why, Sara! Sara! you mustn’t say such things,” Mrs. Wharton reproved her, looking at her daughter over her gold spectacles, with the horrified protest of a simple and literal mind.
The other two laughed, feeling suddenly very well acquainted.
“So long as she lives in Mercer, Mrs. Wharton’s happiness is assured,” the doctor said; and went away, saying to himself, “What a girl! I don’t wonder people rave about her; she’s stunning! But I’m afraid she’s a professional philanthropist.”