"The other friend? Do you mean Sir Lyon?"
"No, no—of course not!" He spoke with a touch of impatience now.
"Mr. Tapster," said Bubbles, nervously flying off at a tangent, "wants me to marry him, Dr. Panton. He asked me—was it yesterday morning, or this morning?" She knitted her brows. "Of course, I had to help him out. The moment he'd said it, he began to hope that I'd say 'No'—so I thought I'd punish him, by leaving him in suspense a bit."
"He was very distressed at your accident," said the doctor rather stiffly. Bubbles' queer confidence had startled him.
"Most men only really want what they feel is out of their reach," she whispered. "When he thought me gone, he wanted me back again. He's like that. He'll make a much nicer widower than he will a husband!"
She looked up and smiled, but he felt as if she was keeping him at arm's length.
"It's Mr. Varick who's outside the door and who wants to come in and see you," he said suddenly, in a matter-of-fact voice.
Bubbles turned her head away quickly. "Not to-night, doctor; I'm too tired." She spoke very decidedly, and in a stronger voice than she had yet used. "I'd rather wait till I get up before seeing Mr. Varick."
"He only wants to come in for a minute—do see him."
Dr. Panton spoke persuasively, but he told himself that Varick was right—Bubbles had got that extraordinary, horrible notion into her head. "He's very much upset," he went on, "he thinks that unconsciously he may have given you some kind of push over the edge of the embankment."