So near was she that he could almost hear the velvet heart-throb of her,—the little fluttering swallow,—yet by some strange, persistent aloofness of her, some determinate virginity, not a fold of her gown, not an edge, not a thread, seemed to even so much as graze his knee, seemed to even so much as shadow his hand,—lest it short-circuit thereby the seething currents of their variant emotions.
With extraordinary intentness for a moment the Senior Surgeon sat staring into the girl's eyes, the blue, blue eyes too full of childish questioning yet to flinch with either consciousness or embarrassment.
"After all, Rae Malgregor," he smiled at last, faintly—"After all, Rae
Malgregor,—Heaven knows when I shall ever get—another holiday!"
"Yes, sir?" said the White Linen Nurse.
With apparent irrelevance he reached for his ivory paper-cutter and began bending it dangerously between his adept fingers.
"How long have you been with me, Rae Malgregor?" he asked quite abruptly.
"Four months—actually with you, sir," said the White Linen Nurse.
"Do you happen to remember the exact phrasing of my—proposal of marriage to you?" he asked shrewdly.
"Oh, yes, sir!" said the White Linen Nurse. "You called it 'general heartwork for a family of two'!"
A little grimly before her steady gaze the Senior Surgeon's own eyes fell, and rallied again almost instantly with a gaze as even and direct as hers.