The matron softly closed the door again, withdrawing.
“Love me! Love me!”
Alvina was absolutely dumbfounded by this scene. She had no idea men did such things. It did not touch her, it dumbfounded her.
The doctor, clinging to her hand, struggled to his feet and flung his arms round her, clasping her wildly to him.
“You love me! You love me, don’t you?” he said, vibrating and beside himself as he pressed her to his breast and hid his face against her hair. At such a moment, what was the good of saying she didn’t? But she didn’t. Pity for his shame, however, kept her silent, motionless and silent in his arms, smothered against the blue-serge waistcoat of his broad breast.
He was beginning to come to himself. He became silent. But he still strained her fast, he had no idea of letting her go.
“You will take my ring, won’t you?” he said at last, still in the strange, lamentable voice. “You will take my ring.”
“Yes,” she said coldly. Anything for a quiet emergence from this scene.
He fumbled feverishly in his pocket with one hand, holding her still fast by the other arm. And with one hand he managed to extract the ring from its case, letting the case roll away on the floor. It was a diamond solitaire.
“Which finger? Which finger is it?” he asked, beginning to smile rather weakly. She extricated her hand, and held out her engagement finger. Upon it was the mourning-ring Miss Frost had always worn. The doctor slipped the diamond solitaire above the mourning ring, and folded Alvina to his breast again.