“Yes, Guy’s rich and handsome, and everybody likes him. We were in college together.”
“You were!” Maddy exclaimed. “Then you know him well, and Jessie, and you’ve been to Aikenside often? There’s nothing in the world I want so much as to go to Aikenside. They say it is so beautiful.”
“Perhaps I’ll take you up there some day when you are strong enough to ride,” the doctor answered, thinking of his light buggy at home, and wondering he had not used it more, instead of always riding on horseback.
Dr. Holbrook looked much older than he was, and to Maddy he seemed quite fatherly, so that the idea of riding with him, aside from the honor it might be to her, struck her much as riding with Farmer Green would have done. The doctor, too, imagined that his proposition was prompted solely from disinterested motives, but he found himself wondering how long it would be before Maddy would be able to ride a little distance, just over the hill and back. He was tiring her, he knew, by talking to her so much; but somehow it was very delightful there in that sick-room, with the summer sunshine stealing through the window and falling upon the brown head resting on the pillows. Once he fixed the pillows, arranging them so nicely that grandma, who had come in from her hens and yeast cakes, declared “he was as handy as a woman,” and, after receiving a few general directions with regard to the future, “guessed, if he wan’t in a hurry, she’d leave him with Maddy a spell, as there were a few chores she must do.”
The doctor knew that at least a dozen people were waiting for him; but still he was in no hurry, he said, and so for half an hour longer he sat there talking of Guy, and Jessie, and Aikenside, and wondering he had never before observed how very becoming a white wrapper was to sick girls like Maddy Clyde. Had he been asked the question, he could not have told whether his other patients wore buff, or brown, or tan color; but he knew all about Maddy’s dress, and thought the dainty frill around her slender throat the prettiest thing that he had ever seen. At last he really must go, and, bidding Maddy good-bye, he started on his daily round of visits.
The Aikenside carriage was standing at Mrs. Conner’s gate when he returned, and Jessie came running out to meet him, followed by Guy, while Agnes, in most becoming attire, sat by the window, looking as unconcerned at his arrival as if it were not the very event for which she had been impatiently waiting. Jessie was a great pet with the doctor, and, lifting her lightly in his arms, he kissed her forehead where the golden curls were clustering, and said to her:
“I have seen Maddy Clyde. She asked for you, and why you do not come to see her, as you promised.”
“Mother won’t let me,” Jessie answered. “She says they are not fit associates for a Remington.”
There was a sudden flash of contempt on the doctor’s face, and a gleam of wrath in Agnes’ eyes as she motioned Jessie to be silent, and then gracefully received the doctor, who by this time was in the room. As if determined to monopolize the conversation, and keep it from turning on the Markhams, Agnes rattled on for nearly fifteen minutes, scarcely allowing Guy a chance for uttering a word. But Guy bided his time, and seized the first favorable opportunity to inquire after Madeline.
She was improving rapidly, the doctor said, adding, “You ought to have seen her delight when I gave her the bouquet. She wished me to thank you for her.”