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Dr. Black’s face flushed and her eyes sparkled with pleasure, as she read on the card the name of a famous surgeon. “You are very kind,” she replied, “and I thank you heartily. Praise from one of your skill and standing is more worth having than anything else I can think of.”

Her words carried fresh doubt and despair to Adams’s heart. “It can’t be possible,” he thought, “that such a woman would care, could care, for me and my love. And yet, I must know, I must know before this day ends.”

They returned to their car and found it deserted. Adams waited while Elizabeth went to the dressing-room to remove the stains of her afternoon’s work.

“It can’t be possible,” he kept saying to himself, “but I must know–I must know, at once.”

With a great effort he forced himself into an appearance of composure. He feared that he might startle and offend her if he gave expression to the ardors that throbbed in his heart and brain. “She must be tired and nervous,” he thought, “and I will try to speak and act calmly.

“You would not let me finish my apology a few hours ago,” he began, as soon as she returned, “but now you must listen to the only excuse I have for my fault–if it was a fault. The only thing I can say for myself is that I love you–love you so much that I almost forgot myself. I love you more than I had thought it would be possible to love any woman–and back there, in the summer-house, when I went in and saw you sitting there, my love broke from my control and swept over me like a flood, and for a moment I scarcely knew what I did–I forgot myself and the respect which was your due. But it was all because I love you so, and want you for my wife, my mate, more than I want anything else in the world. I know, we ‘ve only known each other for three days, but I had to speak to you, now, at once. And if you care enough for me even to think about it, I won’t ask for anything more until you ‘ve had time, you and your family, to know me better and find out who and what I am.”

Elizabeth listened with her gaze on her lap. She was conscious of a feeling of resentment, that increased as he went on, because he could speak so calmly and composedly. It showed in her eyes as she lifted them to his face, but quickly changed to compassion as she saw there such suspense and longing as smote her heart with pain.

“You do not need to speak,” he said, and she saw his countenance wince and change. “I have read my answer in your eyes.” He rose as if to go.

“Wait a moment,” she said hastily. “It is right that you should know how much I also cared until–” she broke off, hesitating, and then went on, slowly and thoughtfully, with a puzzled air, as though she herself did not quite understand. “When you came back to me, in that little summer-house, and I looked into your eyes, my heart told me that you were going to seize me in your arms; and I knew that if you did I was ready to sink into your embrace and to give up everything for your sake. For you had swept me clean off my feet and had made me not care for my career, or for anything but you. But when you did n’t–believe me, I don’t know how or why it was–somehow the shock of your not doing it, when I was so ready to give my love–well, the tide seemed to turn then and go back. And now–I ‘m on my feet again, and care tremendously about my profession and my career.”