"Yes, you look worried to death; but I won't scold you. You don't git much chance to talk alone together, and I suppose you wanted to discuss the latest improvements in medicine. It's a big subject and would take time." "Oh, no, we didn't talk at all--the doctor--was busy--" The doctor laughed. "What is it you want to see me about, Miss Doane?" "I want to talk to you about mothers and their babies. I'll tell you all about it after dinner. Daphne's goin' home and you and me and John'll set down and talk it all over. John ain't no good; he ain't what you call sensible, but he's comfortable. And I got some new things on my mind. "Yes," broke in Daphne. "Miss Doane has been visiting our Settlement." The doctor smiled. "What do you think of it?" Before Drusilla could reply, Daphne said: "What do you think Dr. Eaton calls them, Miss Doane? It's dreadful. He calls them the 'decayed gentle ladies' refuge.'" The doctor flushed. "Daphne--" "Do you?" queried Drusilla, interestedly. "Why?" "Well--" the doctor said rather apologetically, "perhaps I shouldn't; but most of the settlements that I know are filled with workers who are charming women, too good to be stenographers or clerks or housekeepers. They come to the settlements, where they receive a good salary and keep their social position, which they feel they could not do if they worked. You see it's rather a fad to be a social settlement worker, and most of the women couldn't make their living to save their soul at work that really took trained brains or executive ability." "Do tell!" said Drusilla. "I kind of thought something like that when I saw Mrs. Harris, but she seemed to be real pert." "Oh, I am only generalizing. Some of them, the heads especially, are competent women, but the great average--" and he spread his hands out expressively. "Well, anyway, Dr. Eaton--you remember that big blue pencil that we use to draw across the names that ain't no good?--I got a new name to-day to add to that list--settlements--and I want to git home and sharpen the pencil." CHAPTER XIII