"Does it?" she asked with equal quietness. "I'm glad of that."
"Because," he went on gravely, "I realize that it is the only thing I can ever have, and it must take the place of all I once—hoped for."
"Oh, why do you say that?" she cried impetuously.
"Since you are to be my friend now—my special friend—I can tell you what Doctor McDonough told me just two days ago. May I tell you that? I have told and shall tell no one else. Before you take the vows"—he smiled grimly—"you should know what you are accepting."
"Tell me."
"He said I might be better—much better—but I could never hope to be—my old self again."
"Oh, Jerry! Oh, Jerry!" Her voice was almost a sob. She turned about and reached up both hands to him, clasping his with a warm and tender pressure.
"Is that what your friendship means?" he asked, holding her hands closely and looking down steadily into her eyes while his own grew brilliant. "If it does—it is going to be something a man might give up a good deal for."
"Oh, how can you take such a cruel disappointment so?" she breathed. "And to hear it just at Christmas, too. I've said all along that you were just the bravest person I ever knew. But now!—Jerry, I'm not worthy to be your friend."
"Ah, I'll not let you take back what you offered me. If you knew how I've wanted to ask it——"