He was not conceited, but he had read aright the blushing cheek, the flashing eyes, the trembling tones. Her young heart had answered to his own.
But for Doctor St. Clair’s malicious interference he would have told her his love that day beneath the trees, when he had read her heart by the light of his own.
Wearily the day passed in the round of mutual duties that held them apart until evening, when they met at last in the ballroom where the weekly dance for the patients was given.
“Will you give me a dance?” the dear voice said suddenly in her ear, as she was watching with casual amusement the gyrations of an insane woman whirling around with a hospital employee, the manager of the ice plant.
She started with joy, and looked up at him in a little tremor.
“You startled me,” she said, putting out her little hand to meet his, and trembling at his warm, strong clasp.
“Did you not know I had come, little Eva?”
“Oh, yes; but I did not know you were in the ballroom.”
“I came in to look for you. My eyes were aching for the sight of you. Will you dance with me? Or would you prefer to take a stroll outdoors? There is a lovely moon”—eagerly.
“I prefer outdoors,” she answered, letting her eyes droop shyly before his ardent, questioning glance.