"Well," he smiled. "Through the whole four months I seem to have kept my part of the contract all right—and held you merely as a—drudge in my home. Have you then decided, once and for all time,—whether you are going to stay on with us—or whether you will 'give notice' as other drudges have done?"
With a little backward droop of one shoulder the White Linen Nurse began to finger nervously at the desk behind her, and turning half way round as though to estimate what damage she was doing, exposed thus merely the profile of her pink face, of her white throat, to the Senior Surgeon's questioning eyes.
"I shall never—give notice, sir!" fluttered the white throat.
"Are you perfectly sure?" insisted the Senior Surgeon.
The pink in the White Linen Nurse's profiled cheek deepened a little.
"Perfectly sure, sir!" attested the carmine lips.
Like the crack of a pistol the Senior Surgeon snapped the ivory paper cutter in two.
"All right then!" he said. "Rae Malgregor, look at me! Don't take your eyes from mine, I say! Rae Malgregor, if I should decide in my own mind, here and now, that it was best for you—as well as for me—that you should come away with me now—for this week,—not as my guest as I had planned,—but as my wife,—even if you were not quite ready for it in your heart,—even if you were not yet remotely ready for it,—would you come because I told you to come?"
Heavily under her white, white eyelids, heavily under her black, black lashes, the girl's eyes struggled up to meet his own.
"Yes, sir," whispered the White Linen Nurse.