“I guess I had better go right in,” said Maria. “Aunt Maria has a cold, and she may worry and be staying up.”
Lily was entirely happy at walking those few steps with George Ramsey. He had pulled her little hand through his arm in a school-boy sort of fashion. He left her at the door with a friendly good-night, but she had got what she wanted. He had not gone those few steps alone with Maria. Lily loved Maria, but she did not want George Ramsey to love her.
When Lily entered the house, to her great astonishment she found Dr. Ellridge there. He was seated beside her mother, who was lying on the sofa.
“Why, mother, what is it—are you sick?” Lily cried, anxiously, while the doctor looked with admiration at her face, glowing with the cold.
“I had one of my attacks after supper, and sent Norah for Dr. Ellridge. I thought I had better,” Mrs. Merrill explained, feebly. She sighed and looked at the doctor, who understood perfectly, but did not betray himself. He was, in fact, rather flattered.
“Yes, your mother has been feeling quite badly, but she will be all right now,” he said to Lily.
“I am sorry you did not feel well, mother,” Lily said, sweetly. Then she got her fancy-work from her little silk bag on the table and seated herself, after removing her wraps.
Her mother sighed. The doctor's mouth assumed a little, humorous pucker.
Lily looked at her mother with affectionate interest. She was quite accustomed to slight attacks of indigestion which her mother often had, and was not much alarmed, still she felt a little anxious. “You are sure you are better, mother?” she said.
“Oh yes, she is much better,” the doctor answered for her. “There is nothing for you to be alarmed about.”