“Then I will,” said North. “I have waited months, and borne agonies all through her illness. Now I will be at rest.”
“But—”
Salis was too late, for hot, excited, and strung up hard to the highest pitch of excitement, North strode from the room, while Salis stooped over Mary and kissed her.
“I am very sorry,” he repeated: and a couple of loving arms closed round his neck, as Mary sobbed gently upon his breast.
Then brother and sister sat talking, for the drawing-room door had closed, and they could hear the low, dull murmurings of the doctor’s voice.
He had entered the drawing-room, where, looking extremely beautiful in her négligée habit, and refined by illness, Leo lay upon her couch by the fire, for the spring was cold, and as he entered she lowered her book and smiled.
It was a good augury, and with beating heart Horace North advanced and took her hand—to ask this woman to be his wife.