“It’s Helen, if anybody,” she said aloud, just as a voice at the window called out:  “Please, Cousin Lucy, relieve me of these flowers.  I brought them over in honor of Katy’s return.”

Blushing guiltily, Mrs. Lennox advanced to meet a tall, dark-looking man, with a grave, pleasant face, which, when he smiled, was strangely attractive, from the sudden lighting up of the hazel eyes and the glitter of the white, even teeth disclosed so fully to view.

“Oh, thank you, Morris!  Kitty will like them, I am sure,” Mrs. Lennox said, taking from his hand a bouquet of the choice flowers which grew only in the hothouse at Linwood.  “Come in for a moment, please.”

“No, thank you,” the doctor replied.  “There is a case of rheumatism just over the hill, and I must not be idle if I would retain the practice given to me.  Not that I make anything but good will as yet, for only the Silverton poor dare trust their lives in my inexperienced hands.  But I can afford to wait,” and with another flash of the hazel eyes Morris walked away a pace or two, but, as if struck with some sudden thought, turned back, and fanning his heated face with his leghorn hat, said, hesitatingly:  “By the way, Uncle Ephraim’s last payment on the old mill falls due to-morrow.  Tell him, if he says anything in your presence, not to mind unless it is perfectly convenient.  He must be somewhat straitened just now, as Katy’s trip cannot have cost him a small sum.”

The clear, penetrating eyes were looking full at Mrs. Lennox, who for a moment felt slightly piqued that Morris Grant should take so much oversight of her uncle’s affairs.  It was natural, too, that he should, she knew, for, widely different as were their tastes and positions in life, there was a strong liking between the old man and the young, who, from having lived nine years in the family, took a kindly interest in everything pertaining to them.

“Uncle Ephraim did not pay the bills,” Mrs. Lennox faltered at last, feeling intuitively how Morris’ delicate sense of propriety would shrink from her next communication.  “Mrs. Woodhull wrote that the expense should be nothing to me, and as she is fully able, and makes so much of Katy, I did not think it wrong.”

“Lucy Lennox!  I am astonished!” was all Morris could say, as the tinge of wounded pride dyed his cheek.

Kate was a connection—­distant, it is true; but his blood was in her veins, and his inborn pride shrank from receiving so much from strangers, while he wondered at her mother, feeling more and more convinced that what he had so long suspected was literally true.  Mrs. Lennox was weak, Mrs. Lennox was ambitious, and for the sake of associating her daughter with people whom the world had placed above her she would stoop to accept that upon which she had no claim.