I shook my head.
"Well, they were. Perhaps I studied her features more carefully than you."
"Possibly," I said, a little dryly.
"She had had to fight her own battles. She had had to stand up for herself against the world. Her childhood had been sad—an invalid mother, a drunken father——"
"No?" I said.
"Yes. Once she told me all about it. We were alone, and she gave me her confidence. And—I was fool enough to let that moment pass, though every bit of my being cried out to me to speak to her, tell of my love. But I thought she wasn't ready, and then she went away. But, as I was saying, I know she will be more beautiful now, Hers was a large nature. The years will have brought her a tenderness and sympathy which will have written themselves on the lines of her face. Some lined faces, with their experience, are infinitely more attractive than the fresh, smooth faces of youth. Don't you think so?"
I nodded. For the first time in my life I was learning that the Doctor had another side to his character. He had thrown aside his cloak of reserve, his professional manner, and I feared lest a chance word of mine might cause him to withdraw into his shell.
"In some faces you will see written the history of their owners' lives, dispositions, characters, if you look carefully. Note the little lines around the eyes that star away in all directions. They mean that the person who possesses them has smiled much, laughed at misfortune, helped the world to be the brighter and better for his or her presence. I expect to see those lines around Jane's eyes, and if they are not there I shall almost be disappointed."
He fell into a reverie, and I looked at him thoughtfully. He would make Jane very happy. "Oh, I hope she'll have him, I hope she'll have him!" I whispered again and again to myself.
Dimbie appeared over the fence.