"Well, I want you to know that I admire you. I think you've had the
most successful life I know about."
"Sounds like my obituary," he commented.
But Mary was groping for something she wanted to say, something newly
felt. Looking at his small bent figure, his face, so gentle yet with
something hard and firm in its calmness, suddenly she seemed to see
him, his long laborious life, in a flash of light.
"I think you're beautiful," she said solemnly.
It was a strange word, and Dr. Lowell was visibly abashed. He fidgeted,
made a feeble joke, and then looked sharply at Mary's unwonted colour
and bright eyes.
"What's the matter? You're not going to--sure you feel perfectly well,
Mary?"
"Why, yes.... But Laurence isn't. I wish you'd drop in and see him.
He'll be home tomorrow night. Suppose you come to dinner and take a
look at him."
"What ails him?"
"He complains of headaches lately and he looks--well, you'll see. Keeps
right on working, though. You'll come? The boys always want to see you
too, you know."
"Well, they do. They drop in here quite often--especially Jim. I think
maybe we might make a doctor of Jim."
"You do?" Mary's eyes opened wide. "Has he shown any interest that way?
He never said a word to me about it."
"Yes, we've talked it over. He _is_ interested. He takes to science.
Has a good mind, that boy--kind of slow, but thorough. Likes to get to
the bottom of things. He could work hard if he was interested."
"Well!" Mary pondered this. Then she said, "I've been worried about
him--he runs around at night and won't tell me where he goes."
"I know where he goes," said Dr. Lowell placidly.
"You do? He tells you?"
"Oh, Jim and I are great friends. He's all right, Mary.... But you must
realize--Jim's almost a man, and he's a strapping healthy fellow--you
can't hold too tight a rein on him, if you do he'll kick over the
traces."