But he was gone from the dark window, and, frightened, she bent over, caught up her walking stick, and took one impulsive step toward the door. And stood stock still in the middle of the floor as he entered.
His eyes met hers, fell on the supporting cane; and she covered her face with her left arm, standing there motionless.
"Good God!" he breathed. "You!"
She began to cry like a child.
"I didn't want you to know," she wailed. "Oh, I didn't want you to know. I thought there was no use—no hope—until yesterday. . . . I—wanted to go to New York with the doctor and be made all sound and well again b-before—before I let you love me——"
"Oh, Diana—Diana!" he whispered, with his arms around her. "Oh, Diana—Diana—my little girl Diana!"
Which was silly enough, she being six feet—almost as tall as he.
"Turn your back," she whispered. "I want to go to my desk—and I can't bear to have you see me walk."
"No, no, no! Please let them cure me first. . . . Turn your back."