She did not even dare to look at him; she could not bear that he should see her do so; it was enough to know that he was free—that he was there—that it was over. She did not want to see how it had changed him; and, half to set him at ease, half to work off her own excitement, she talked to her father, and told him of the little events of his absence till the meal was over; and, at half-past one, good nights were exchanged with Leonard, and the Doctor saw him to his room, then returned to his daughter on her own threshold.
'That's a thing to have lived for,' he said.
Ethel locked her hands together, and looked up.
'And now, how about this other denouement? I might have guessed that the wind sat in that quarter.'
'But you're not to guess it, papa. It is really and truly about the 'Diseases of Climate'.'
'Swamp fevers, eh! and agues!'
The 'if you can help it,' was a great comfort now; Ethel could venture on saying, 'Of course that has something to do with it; but he really does make the book his object; and please—please don't give any hint that you suspect anything else.'
'I suppose you are in his confidence; and I must ask no questions.'
'I hated not telling you, and letting you tease him; but he trusted me just enough not to make me dare to say a word; though I never was sure there was a word to say. Now do just once own, papa, that Tom is the romantic one after all, to have done as he did in the height of the trouble.'
'Well in his place so should I,' said the Doctor, with the perverseness of not satisfying expectations of amazement.