My voice came hard and unnatural. I still held the fingers, and as I did so, felt the embarrassment of utter shyness pass over the bridge of our two hands and settle chokingly upon my heart.
"Why?" I repeated, more hoarsely yet.
"Because—because I must not neglect mother again. She is waiting."
"Then let me go with you."
"Oh, no! Some day—if we meet—I will introduce you."
"Why not now?"
"Because she is not well."
Even my lately-acquired knowledge of the Materia Medico, scarcely warranted me in offering to cure her. But I did.
She laughed shyly and said, "How, sir; are you a doctor?"
"Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, gentleman, apothecary," I said lightly, "neither one nor the other, but that curious compound of the two last—a medical student."