Dostor stood looking down at a patient with rather a concerned face. She was quite an old woman and he was quite a young man. She was stern and hard, and he certainly was one of the kindest-hearted young men that ever lived.
" And you think you are no better this morning, Miss Rivers ? " he said gently.
" I'm never better," she said shortly ; " I'm always worse."
" I think if you got about a little more," he returned in a persuasive voice, "it would be better for you."
"Why?" she asked obstinately. "No one wishes to see me, not even the horde of relatives who are longing to get my money."
"You are suffering from that disease called riches,' " thought the doctor to himself. " I wish you were a poor woman, and I would send you to the wash-tub or the scrubbing-brush."
Miss Rivers laid her ...