Miss Kingscott assented, of course. She saw his embarrassment, and wished to lead him on to an éclaircissement; but she could scarcely refrain herself from smiling at the ludicrous endeavours of the doctor to hide his nervousness, which was unmistakeably increasing.
“Yes, madam, it’s a fine day; but hot, madam. Don’t you think so?”
“Certainly, doctor, I think it is warm,” answered the lady, confirmatively.
And, indeed, any one looking into his face could not but agree with the remark.
“Warm, madam, is no term for it, it is confoundedly hot! But I beg your pardon, madam, were you ever in love?” he blurted out abruptly, after a great effort, bolting into his subject, as it were.
“Good gracious me, doctor?” said Miss Kingscott, with a charmingly acted surprise, and blushing embarrassment. “What a strange question for you to ask!”
“Not at all, madam—not at all. I said the weather was hot. Don’t you see, madam? and it is hot. I asked you about love—and love is hot. There’s my proposition, you see the connection between the two?”
And the doctor’s face glowed with perspiration.
“I do not follow your argument,” said the governess, calmly. “You seem to arrive very rapidly at your deductions; but what has the result to do with me?” she asked, with ingenuous innocence.
“A good deal, madam—a good deal. How fearfully warm it is! You see, madam, before you an old man.”