“No, Maddy, I would not have you say yes unless your heart was in it,” he answered, while he tried to smile upon the tearful face looking up so sorrowfully at him.
But the smile was a forlorn one, and there came instead a tear as he thought how dear was this girl who never could be his. Maddy saw the tear, and, as if she were a child, wiped it from his cheek; then, in tones which never faltered, she told him it might be that in time she should learn to love him. She would try so hard, she would think of him always as her promised husband, and by that means should learn at last not to shrink from taking him for such. It might be ever so long, and perhaps she should be twenty or more, but some time in the future she should feel differently. Was he satisfied, and would he wait?
Her little hand was resting on his shoulder, but he did not mind its soft pressure or know that it was there, so strong was the temptation to accept that half-made promise. But the doctor was too noble, too unselfish, to bind Maddy to himself unless she were wholly willing, and he said to her that if she did not love him now she probably never would. She could not make a love. She need not try, as it would only result in her own unhappiness. They would be friends just as they always had been, and none need know of what had passed between them, except Guy. “I must tell him,” the doctor said, “because he knew that I was going to ask you.”
Maddy could not explain why it was that she felt glad the doctor would tell Guy. She did not analyze any of her feelings, or stop to ask why she should care to have Guy Remington know the answer she had given Dr. Holbrook. He was going to him now, she was sure, for he arose to leave her, saying he might not see her again before she returned to New York. She did not mention his bill. That was among the bye-gones, a thing never again to be talked about; and offering him her hand, she looked for an instant earnestly into his face, and then, without a word, hurried from the room, while the doctor, with a sad, heavy heart, went in quest of Guy.
“Refused you, did you say?” and Guy’s face certainly looked brighter than it had before since he left the doctor with Maddy Clyde.
“Yes, refused me, as I might have known she would,” was the doctor’s reply, spoken so naturally that Guy looked up quickly to see if he really did not care.
But the expression of the face belied the calmness of the voice; and, touched with genuine pity, Guy asked the cause of the refusal—“Preference for any one else, or what?”
“No, there was no one whom she preferred. She merely did not like me well enough to be my wife, that was all,” the doctor said, and then he tried to talk of something else; but it would not do. The wound was yet too fresh and sore to be covered up, and in spite of himself the bearded chin quivered and the manly voice shook as he bade good-bye to Guy, and then went galloping down the avenue.