"You haven't changed, Alan, except to look bigger and stronger," she remarked, after a little while.
"And you are more lovely than ever, Doris," he said; and now he could have embraced her just for her sheer grace and beauty. He was angry with himself and not a little humbled, for he had never really doubted his love for Doris. Her comparative calmness troubled rather than wounded him, for his faith in her was not yet faltering like his faith in himself, and he wondered whether her calmness was born of girl's pride or woman's insight. Nevertheless, amid all doubts and questionings his main purpose remained unwavering: he was here to ask Doris to marry him as soon as possible, so that he might rescue her and her father from the difficulties besetting them.
As for Doris, her mind was working almost at cross purposes with his. Apart from the double barrier created by her father's unhappy position and her promise to Bullard, she knew that she could not willingly marry Alan, for at last it was given her to realise why the first news of his safety, as told by Teddy France, had failed to glorify her own little world.
She had seated herself, bidding him with a gesture to do the same, and now they were placed with the width of the hearth between them. She was the first to break the silence that had followed a few rather conventional remarks from either side, and it cost her an effort. She was pale.
"Alan, I wish to thank you for your message to father in Teddy's telegram. I—I think it saved him. But—please let me go on—I want to be quite sure that Teddy told you everything that mattered."
"Everything I need know, Doris. I wish you wouldn't distress yourself.
It's going to be all right, you know. How is your father to-night?"
"I think he will be well enough to see you to-morrow," she replied, and went on to ask a number of questions very painful to her. When he had answered the last of them in the affirmative, she sighed and said: "Then, Alan, I think, I hope, you do know nearly all, and I can only beg you to believe that father never meant to injure you in any way. It was not until there was no hope left of your being alive that he—"
"Doris, I implore you not to talk about it. Mr. Lancaster was my good friend in the old days, and I trust he is that still. When I see him to-morrow I shall have to depend on that friendship, because, you see, Doris, I shall want—with your permission—to ask a great favour of him."
On the girl's tired lovely face a flush came—and went. "Alan, this is no time for misunderstandings," she said bravely, "and when you have a talk with father, I wish you to—to try to forget me."
"Forget you! … Ah! you mean you do not wish me to refer to your part in helping him—"