“Don’t tempt me!” she cried earnestly—“don’t tempt me! There are so many things that I should like, and I keep thinking of them, when I should think only of you.—I’d love to be rich, and have a nice house, and play Lady Bountiful at home! I’d love to travel about and see the world, instead of jogging along in one little rut; and, really and truly, I dread turning out to work, and am a coward at heart—but,—that’s all! I have always liked you very much as a friend, but I can’t imagine ever feeling any different. When I was thinking over things just now, I—don’t be angry! I don’t want to hurt you, only to be quite, quite honest—I thought more of Eleanor than of you! I hardly thought of you at all.”
The doctor’s thin face looked very drawn and pained, but he smiled in response to her pleading glance.
“I’m not angry, dear. Why should I be? It is not your fault that you do not care, and it is best for us both to know the truth. I feared it might be so. I am too old and staid to attract a bright young girl, but I even now cannot bring myself to regret my love. It has given me the happiest hours of my life, and I hope you will always let me help you in any way that is possible. I think you owe me that privilege, don’t you, Ruth?”
“Oh, I do—I do! If it is any pleasure to you, I promise faithfully to come to you whenever I need a friend, and I should like you to help me. That means a great deal, for I am horribly proud. There are very few people from whom I can accept a favour.”
He smiled again, but with an evident effort, and Ruth, peeping at his averted profile, felt a pang of real personal suffering at the sight of his pain. It seemed dreadful that she should have such power to affect this strong man; to take the light out of his face and make it old and worn and grey!
The carriage was nearing home; in a few minutes’ time the drive would be over, and she would have no chance of continuing the conversation. With a sudden swelling of the heart she realised that she could not part without another expression of regret.
“I am so sorry, so dreadfully sorry to have grieved you! But you would not like me to marry you just for what you could give me; you would not have been satisfied with that, would you, Dr Maclure?”
His eyes met hers with a flash of determination.
“No,” he cried—unhesitatingly—“never! I want a wife who loves me, or no wife at all! One never knows what lies ahead in this world, and if dark days come I should like to feel that she cared for me more, rather than less. It would be hard for us both if she valued only my possessions, and they took to themselves wings and fled. And there is your own future to consider. Love will come to you some day, and you must be free to welcome him. Don’t distress yourself about me, Ruth; I have my work for consolation. Before I get home to-night I shall have seen so much suffering that I shall be ashamed to nurse my own trouble.”
“Yes,” said Ruth faintly.