He faced her. "You said—" He gazed at her.
"I said I—that—I—loved you!" She threw it at him. "That's bad enough, I hope—without having to leave my hospital!" A fine, clear color had come into her face.
He watched it smilingly. "I'll come here to live!" he announced.
"I can't have you! You wouldn't like it! It wouldn't be good for you—living with your work!... Oh—dear!"
She wrestled with it and he watched the disturbed face, with happy, affectionate eyes.
"Don't bother—Jane!" he said softly.
"Of course I've got my wing—" She paused on it. "You can come and live in my wing.... That's the best I can do for you!" She threw out her hands, half laughing, half crying, and he took them and led her to the rocking-chair and put her in it and stood beside her.
"I wonder if you need another powder," he said reflectively.
"Mercy—no!... Sit down!"
He sat down and she looked at him—and at his shabby, crumpled clothes—with brimming eyes.