“I don’t see why you need be in such a hurry,” she replied.
“I must, I must!” he retorted. “And there’s one more girl I haven’t mentioned so far—”
“You’ve kept her to the last!” she snapped.
“Yes, I’ve kept her to the last, because I haven’t any right even to hope that she would have me. She is not a widow, and she hasn’t a cast in her eye, and she is neither fat nor scrawny; she is just a lovely young girl—”
“You speak of her with more enthusiasm than you did of any of the others,” she broke in. “Do I know her?”
“You ought to know her,” he answered; “but I doubt if you think as well of her as I do.”
“Who is she?” was her swift question.
“You won’t be offended?” he asked.
“Of course not! How absurd! Why should I be offended?” she responded. “Who is she? Who is she?”
The Doctor answered seriously, and with a quaver of emotion in his voice, “She is the girl I have loved for a long time, and her name is Minnie Contoit!”