She knew instantly who she was now,
as she sat there in her haughty beauty, checking with determined hand
the impatience of those horses. Oh, she knew more than this! It was very
apparent now why Dr. Everett was peculiarly abrupt, and--well,
yes--embarrassed. She had almost thought that was the name of the
feeling, only it had seemed so absurd. And then Joy Saunders held her
meek little head high, and told herself that he need not fear her
presence; she could go as she had come, in the street-car.
The doctor came towards her now, speaking rapidly, as usual:--
"Joy, the child is very sick. There ought to be an experienced person
here to-night. Not you; I am sorry you came up. Do you think your mother
would come? Will you ride down with me? I have Miss Dennis in the
carriage, but it is quite large enough for three, you know."
Then Joy had turned away her head, holding it high, and said:--
"No, thank you; I am going down in the street-car."
And that blundering doctor drew on his gloves, saying to himself, "I
don't know but that is best," and went out, only waiting to say to
Joy:--
"Will you ask your mother about it? I will see her as soon as I can get
around. I wish you would go directly home from here--will you?"
Then he lifted his hat to her, and sprang into his carriage and rode
away with Gracie Dennis; and Joy Saunders waited for the next yellow
car, and climbed into it, and told herself all the way down town that
she wished she had stayed at the little house and watched all night by
the sick child.
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