“Yes, that is advisable,” the doctor agreed easily. The charming color of her cheek, the bunch of violets on her shoulder, her beautiful, troubled brown eyes, were not lost upon this young man. “I thought her a vain little thing,” he went on, “and rather brutal to the good woman who was taking care of her. But illness makes us all selfish.”
“I am afraid she is vain, poor child,” Sara said, “and selfish, too, rather. But the worst of it is, she has—she has not been good, Dr. Morse.”
“Ah!” said the young man.
“I did hope she had reformed, but while I was away—it happened again.”
“I see. I see.”
“Of course, in sending her away that has to be considered. She must be among people who will do her good.”
“And to whom she will not do harm.”
Sara looked a little startled. “Of course; but I had not thought of that.”
“It seems to me that is very important,” he said, smiling. “Speaking of sending people away, I wish I might tell you of another case which needs the country; or are your hands too full to consider any one else?”
“Alas, it is my purse which is not full,” she said ruefully; “but is it very bad?”