“Mr. Remington took them both,” the artist replied, commencing a dissertation on the style and beauty of the young girl, all of which was lost upon the doctor, who, in a kind of maze, quitted the room, and returning to Jessie, said to her carelessly, “He hasn’t it. You know they rub out those they do not use. So you’ll have to do without it; and, Jessie, I wouldn’t tell Guy I tried to get it for you.” Jessie wondered why she must not tell Guy, but the fact that the doctor requested her not to do so was sufficient. Consequently, Guy little guessed that the doctor knew what it was he carried so carefully in his coat pocket, looking at it often when alone in his own room, and admiring its soft, girlish beauty, and trying to convince himself that his sole object in getting it was to give it to the _doctor_ after Maddy was gone! It would be such a surprise, and the doctor would be so glad, that Guy finally made himself believe that he had done a most generous thing! “I am going to send Lucy your picture to-day, and as she asked that you should write her a few lines, suppose you do it now,” Guy said to Maddy next morning, as they were leaving the breakfast table. It was a sore trial to Maddy to write to Lucy Atherstone, but she offered no remonstrance, and so, accompanying the picture was a little note, filled mostly with praises of Mr. Guy, and which would be very gratifying to the unsuspecting Lucy. Now that it was fully decided for Jessie to go to New York with Maddy, her lessons were suspended, and Aikenside for the time being was turned into a vast dress-making and millinery establishment. With his usual generosity, Guy had given Agnes permission to draw upon his purse for whatever was needed, either for herself or Jessie, with the definite understanding that Maddy should have an equal share of dress and attention. “It will not be necessary,” he said, “for you to enlighten the citizens of New York with regard to Maddy’s position. She goes there as Jessie’s equal, and as such her wardrobe must be suitable.” No one could live long with Maddy Clyde without becoming interested in her, and in spite of herself Agnes’s dislike was wearing away, particularly as of late she had seen no signs of special attention on the doctor’s part. He had recovered from his weakness, she thought, and she was very gracious toward Maddy, who, naturally forgiving, began to like her better than she had ever deemed it possible for her to like so proud and haughty a woman.