They Called Her Mrs. Doc. Read Online Free Page A

dare ask and her papa never referred to the young men by their given names.
    “Did you hear what Mitchell called Mr. Smith?” went on Abigail.
    Cassie shook her head.
    “Sam! Sam? Can you imagine anything more—more drab . Sam Smith. Chopped off and—and ugly. As ugly as the man himself.”
    “That’s not fair,” Cassie heard herself responding. “He’s not ugly.”
    “Well, he certainly isn’t handsome.”
    “There’s a lot of room between handsome and ugly,” retorted Cassie, surprising herself by sticking up for the young man. She really had paid very little attention to him at all. But he did have a winsome smile, and her mama thought him terribly mannerly, and her papa, for reasons of his own, seemed to think that the young Mr. Smith was going to make a wonderful doctor someday. In fact, Cassie heard him talking about Smith even more than about Birdwell or Corouthers.
    “Papa says he will be a good doctor,” went on Cassie. “He has very high regard for him.”
    “ But he’s “igail mournfully. “And—and he looks so boyish with that bit of hair falling over his forehead as it does. You’d think that a doctor would try to get it under proper control. Wet it down or slick it back or—”
    “One should not be judged on appearance alone,” cut in Cassie, repeating words she had heard from her father and had detested hearing up to that point.
    Abigail stopped mid-stride. “Do you like him or something?” she queried.
    “Of course. I mean—I—I have no reason not to like him. Oh, I don’t like him like—” She had been about to say “like Mitchell Birdwell,” but checked herself in time. “I—I like all three of the young men that Papa has picked. I—I just don’t swoon over them like you do, that’s all.”
    “Well, I don’t swoon over them either,” insisted Abigail. “At least not over all of them. Just—just Mitchell, and I’m sure it isn’t all on my side either. Did you see how he smiled at me at the table? I’m sure he is just waiting for the proper time to ask to call.”
    Cassie was no longer prepared to deny Abigail’s charge. She had smiled at the young Mr. Birdwell herself on a few occasions, but there wasn’t much response—so it seemed. She had decided to turn her attention elsewhere and concentrate on Dr. Corouthers instead.
    By carefully playing detective, she learned that his name was Taylor Corouthers. He was twenty-nine. More than eleven years her senior. She had no problem envisioning herself with an older, mature, stable man. Her own papa was nine years her mama’s senior. What did bother her was that Dr. Corouthers always spoke of returning to Halifax at the end of his internship. Cassie had no intention of leaving her Montreal home and journeying to a land that was not nearly as cultured or refined as she considered her home city to be—even if it did have ships!
    “I’ll just have to persuade him to stay on here,” she told herself. “Papa will be able to find him a good position, a practice right in Montreal.”
    And Cassie put this concern from her head and concentrated on looking her best and acting her most charming. She was sure Dr. Corouthers had indeed noticed her; and with her eighteenth birthday fast approaching, she was prepared to be courted in proper fashion.
    For the first time in many years, Cassie did not share her inner thoughts with Abigail. They seemed too personal, too special, perhaps too fragile to be shared, even with her best friend.

    Cassie was home alone when the doorbell rang. Dickerson, the butler, answered and came to the drawing room where Cassie was reading before the fire.
    “Mr. Smith is waiting in the hall,” he said with his usual formal manner.
    “But Papa is out. He and Mama have taken the boys to the ball game.”
    “Yes, Miss. I know the evening’s plans,” Dickerson said stiffly. “But the fact remains, Mr. Smith is waiting in the front hall. He says that he will speak with you in the absence of