As they walked slowly back, the doctor’s manner towards his companion was entirely changed. He felt that here was a woman whom a man might be proud to call friend; and when they reached the gate leading into the meadows, and she turned to him with a smile, and said to him, “And how is Lady Martlett?” he started slightly, and then uttered a sigh of relief.
“Hah!” he exclaimed. “You still take an interest in that?”
“O yes, doctor,” she said. “I have from the beginning. Well, is it to be a match?”
“No, no. I’ll be frank with you. I like the woman—well, I love her as well as a man should one whom he would make his wife; but it is impossible.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes; impossible,” he said gloomily; “even if she were not playing with me.”
“I don’t think she is, doctor—not if I understand anything about women. Her pride is assumed, on account of your off-hand way to her. Why, you jeer and laugh at her. I have seen you insult her.”
“Well, yes, I have. What else could I do? She wanted to bring me to her feet, to make me her slave, and to throw me over, as she has served a dozen more.”
“Fops and fortune-hunters.”
“Yes, that’s it,” he said excitedly, and quite carried out of his ordinary mood; “fortune-hunters. She thinks me one of that despicable brood. Hang it all, Miss Raleigh! it is out of the question.”