Jack turned his eyes: “That was just what I was trying to screw up my courage to do. Please let me, won't you?” Again Miss Felicia lifted her eyebrows, but she did not say she would.
“And Ruth—what do you intend to call that young lady? Of course, without her permission, as that seems to be the fashion.” And the old lady's eyes danced in restrained merriment.
The sufferer's face became suddenly grave; for an instant he did not answer, then he said slowly:
“But what can I call her except Miss Ruth?”
Miss Felicia laughed. Nothing was so delicious as a love affair which she could see into. This boy's heart was an open book. Besides, this kind of talk would take his mind from his miseries.
“Oh, but I am not so sure of that,” she rejoined, in an encouraging tone.
A light broke out in Jack's eyes: “You mean that she WOULD let me call her—call her Ruth?”
“I don't mean anything of the kind, you foolish fellow. You have got to ask her yourself; but there's no telling what she would not do for you now, she's so grateful to you for saving her father's life.”
“But I did not,” he exclaimed, an expression as of acute pain crossing his brows. “I only helped him along. But she must not be grateful. I don't like the word. Gratitude hasn't got anything to do with—” he did not finish the sentence.
“But you DID save his life, and you know it, and I just love you for it,” she insisted, ignoring his criticism as she again smoothed his hand. “You did a fine, noble act, and I am proud of you and I came to tell you so.” Then she added suddenly: “You received my message last night, didn't you? Now, don't tell me that that good-for-nothing Peter forgot it.”