“I must. I have a patient to see at ten o’clock.”
“Your patient will have to wait.”
“My dear good Clara! I, a doctor, keep a patient waiting! You forget yourself.”
“No; but you, Luke, forget yourself.”
“I fail to understand you.”
“You shall not leave here,” said the woman. She drew herself up—she was tall and slender. “You shall not leave here until our wedding day is fixed. Luke, what day will you marry me?”
He gave a shudder, and this time it was perceptible. An ugly expression crossed the woman’s face, and the red scar became visible even under the cloudy mass of hair. She raised her hand impatiently and pushed back the hair. As a nurse, she always wore it smooth and plain, and in its fluffy condition it worried her.
“I keep you to your bargain,” she said. “You promised to marry me if I did what you required.”
“And, of course, I keep my word,” he answered. “But why speak of marriage just now? We can surely wait for a short time.”
“We cannot.”