Clive and the Doctor moved to the window and stood with their backs to the bed, the old man watching them intently for a few moments, and then smiling at Janet as he held and fondled her hand.
“There!” he said, “you are not to fret and be miserable about it, and when I’m gone it is not to interfere with your marriage.”
“Oh, Mr Reed!” she cried passionately.
“No, no, no,” he continued quietly; “not a bit. Life is short, my dear; enjoy it, and do your work in it while you can. And mind, there is to be no silly parade of mourning for me. I’m not going to have your pretty face spoiled with black crape, and all that nonsense. Mourn for me in your dear little heart, Janet: not sadly, but with pleasant, happy memories of one who held you when you were a baby, and who has always looked upon you as his little daughter.” Janet’s face went down on the old man’s hands with the tears flowing silently.
“Now, just a few more words, my dear,” he almost whispered. “Your father and I have rather spoiled you by indulgence.”
“Yes, yes,” she whispered quickly. “I have not deserved so much.”
“Never mind; you are going to be a dear good girl now, and make Clive a true, loving wife.”
“Yes, I’ll try so hard.”
“It will not take much trying, Janet, for he loves you very dearly.”
She raised her head sharply, and there was an angry look in her eyes.