“There! Don't act like the Wild Man of Borneo. Do you mean that you are in love with her?”
“Don't you see now why I cannot accept? I must go away. I am going.”
“Humph! That will do. . . . Humph! Well, Paine—Bennett, I should say; it is hard to keep track of your names—you are rather—er—reckless, it seems to me. Mabel is our only child and her mother and I, naturally, had planned for her future . . . Have you told her of your—recklessness?”
“Of course not! I shall not see her again. I shall leave Denboro as soon as I can. She will never know.”
“Humph! I see . . . I see . . . Well, I don't know that there is anything for me to say.”
“There is not.”
“I am sorry for you, of course.”
“Thank you.”
There was a sharp rap at the door. Doctor Quimby opened it and entered the room. He glanced from me to his patient and his face expressed sharp disapproval.
“You'd better go, Ros,” he snapped. “What is the matter with you? Didn't I tell you not to excite him.”