Christopher's face was troubled. His brain was in a turmoil. The happenings of the last few days bewildered him. Life had seemed so simple, so beautiful, with just their great love for each other to build on; but now.... He was only sure of one thing, that from the moment Penelope Wells had come to him as a ministering angel across the scarred and broken battle field, he had adored her with a love that would endure until the day of his death ... and, he told himself, beyond that!
“Chris, my boy,” began Owen in his bluff, cheery way when they had retired to the study for coffee and cigars, “I am in a difficulty, I must ask you some questions that may embarrass you—it's the only way out.”
Herrick's clear, honest gaze met the doctor's eyes unflinchingly.
“That's all right, sir. Go ahead. I suppose it's about Mrs. Wells?”
“Yes. I am very much interested in her case, not only on your account, but because she is a wonderful woman. When I write your father I'll tell him he's going to have a daughter-in-law who will make him sit up and take notice. Ha, ha!”
The young man's heavy brows contracted gloomily.
“I wish that were true, sir, but—you know what I told you?”
“About her refusing you? Don't worry over that. Just wait until we get her health built up a little.”
“Do you think she will change her mind? Did she say so?” Herrick asked eagerly.
“Pretty nearly that. If she doesn't marry you, she won't marry anyone. The fact is—Mrs. Wells is suffering from a nervous strain, I'm not sure what it is, but there are abnormal symptoms and—I hate to force your confidence, Chris, but, speaking as Mrs. Wells' medical adviser and a mighty good friend of yours, a sort of representative of your father—you know how close your father and I have always been?”