“But to-night—forgive me, Father—you insist on our going to this reception.”
“Yes, my sweet confessor; but I have a good reason,—one not to be spoken of.”
“‘Those who trust us educate us,’” she pleaded in wistful earnestness.
“Then your education is complete. Well, I knew your mother would resist seeing any physician, for fear of his measures going contrary to her desires; so I have planned for her to meet to-night a certain doctor whom I would trust professionally with my wife’s life, and on whom I can rely for the necessary tact to hide the professional object of their meeting. What do you think of my way, dear?”
For answer she stooped and kissed his hand.
“May I know his name?” she asked after a pause.
“His name is Kemp,—Dr. Herbert Kemp.”
“Why, he lives a few blocks from here; I have seen his sign. Is he an old physician?”
“I should judge him to be between thirty-five and forty. Not old certainly, but one with the highest reputation for skill. Personally he is a man of great dignity, inspiring confidence in every one.”
“Where did you meet him?”
“In the hospitals,” said her father quickly. “But I will introduce him to you to-night. Don’t lose your head when you talk to him.”
“Why should I?”
“Because he is a magnificent fellow; and I wish my daughter to hold her own before a man whom I admire so heartily.”
“Why, this is the first time you have ever given me worldly advice,” she laughed.
“Only a friendly hint,” he answered, rising and putting his book in its place with the precision of a spinster.
Chapter II
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