HEARTS ACHE AND ACHE YET DO NOT BREAK
“That’s right, my girl, play away. It’s good to hear the piano going again. And, between ourselves, I’m beginning to feel depressed by the stillness of the house. It’s difficult to believe that this is home since we took on hospital work. Between ourselves, I sha’n’t be sorry when Ormsby says good-bye. As a strong man and a soldier, I like him; but, as a sick man, I’ve had enough of him. Never had a fancy for ambulance work or being near the hospital base.”
“I, too, shall be glad when we have the house to ourselves,” observed Dora. “Of course, I’m fearfully sorry for Captain Ormsby, and all that; but I do wish he’d go. He’s not very ill now. Couldn’t you throw out a hint about his going, father?”
“Impossible! I—I am not a strategist; but you are. I will leave him to you, and you must get to work. But I don’t know what you’ve got to grumble about with a man like Ormsby in the house to amuse you and admire you all the time.”
The colonel turned on his heel, and was out of the room before Dora could stop him. 103
She got up from the piano, and pushed the stool aside, impatiently. Her lovely face was clouded, and two little lines above the curving arch of her eyebrows were deeply set in thought. Ormsby’s continued presence filled her with uneasy dread. For the past two weeks, he had watched her with an intentness that was embarrassing. She knew that he meant to propose to her, if he succeeded in finding her alone; and she was undecided as to whether she should give, or deny, him the opportunity of hearing the worst. Perhaps, it would be better to let him speak; he could not possibly remain after she had refused him.
This decision made, she presently went into the library, where she found her father and their guest. The two men were talking earnestly, and, as she approached, her father shook hands heartily with Ormsby—for some unknown reason—and went out of the room. It looked like a plot to leave her at Vivian Ormsby’s mercy. She made an excuse to follow her father. Now that the moment was come, her courage failed her. She saw that the man was very much in earnest, and she knew that it would be difficult to turn him from his purpose.
“One moment,” said Ormsby, resting his hand on her arm. “I have something to say to you. You must give me a few minutes—you really must, I insist.” 104
“Must! Captain Ormsby,” faltered Dora, with the color flooding her cheeks. “I never allow anyone to use that word to me—not even father.”
“Then, let me beg you to listen.” He spoke softly, caressingly, but the mouth was hard, and his fine, full eyes held her as under a spell. “What I have to say will not, I feel sure, come as a surprise, for you must have seen that I love you. I have your father’s permission to ask you to be my wife.”