"Shall I?" said Sarah. She turned her face away from the doctor.
"You've not been here very much lately," he said, "but you've been here long enough to guess her secret, as you—you've guessed mine. Eh? You needn't pretend, for my sake, to misunderstand me."
"I wasn't going to," said Sarah, gently.
"John Crewys is the very man I would have chosen—I did choose him," said the doctor, looking at her almost fiercely. It was an odd consolation to him to believe he had first led John Crewys to interest himself in Lady Mary. He recognized his rival's superior qualifications very fully and humbly. "You know all about it, Miss Sarah, don't tell me; so quick as you are to find out what doesn't concern you."
"I saw that—Mr. John Crewys—liked her," said Sarah, in a low voice; "but, then, so does everybody. I wasn't sure—I couldn't believe that she—"
"You haven't watched as I have," he groaned; "you haven't seen the sparkle come back to her eye, and the colour to her cheek. You haven't watched her learning to laugh and sing and enjoy her innocent days as Nature bade; since she has dared to be herself. It was love that taught her an that."
"Love!" said Sarah.
Her soft, red lips parted; and her breath quickened with a sudden sensation of mingled interest, sympathy, and amusement.
"Ay, love," said the doctor, half angrily. He detected the deepening of Sarah's dimples. "And I am an old fool to talk to you like this. You children think that love is reserved for boys and girls, like you and—and Peter."
"I don't know what Peter has to do with it," said Sarah, pouting.