She was standing in the hall, almost leaning against the study door, her dark furs enhancing the beauty of her bright skin and the charm of her eyes.
“I’ll come over presently. Put a hot-water bag on his back,” advised the doctor, with a haunting subconsciousness of the man on the lounge.
“Oh, but I want you to come to breakfast!” she argued. “Why can’t you come?”
He pretended to be angry.
“Why can’t I? I’ve been up all night, my girl, and I want my own way this morning?”
She commiserated him.
“I’m so sorry—what a shame! Of course you must rest. Papa isn’t really so ill, only I—I”—she hesitated with a charming smile—“I’ve got something to tell you!”
He turned a searching look on her.
“Yes?”
“I’m engaged to be married.”