“I have come to ask about my friend, Miss Sinclair,” he said, as he sat in the physician’s parlor. “Is she better?”
“No, she does not mend at all. There seems to be some weight upon her heart or life that is breaking her down.”
The blood came to the young man’s face, but how could he know that “the weight” upon her heart meant love for him! Perhaps he was too presuming. After an awkward silence he said, “Doctor, I must confide in you. I love Miss Sinclair, but I have never had the means to marry her. I have had a mother and sister to make a home for, and I could not ask another to share my poverty. I do not know that Edith returns my affection, though we have had a delightful friendship together.”
“She loves you, I feel sure,” said her doctor, “and I think your mistake has been that you and she have not had an understanding sooner. Edith is a sensitive, lovely girl, delicately reared, and almost too careful of the conventionalities of life, or she would have shown her love for you.”
“Do you think the time has come to tell her that I love her?”
“Perhaps not just yet. I will tell her of our conversation and make her ready for the meeting.”
Young Thomas went away with a lighter heart than he had had for months. At last Edith would know all and wait for him, if she loved him.
Dr. Armstrong came every day to the Sinclair home, but the sick girl grew no better. Soon after this talk with Mr. Thomas the doctor said to Edith, “I have had a visit from your friend, and, just as I expected, he loves you, but has never asked your hand in marriage because he has so many cares at home and a small salary.”
The white face grew eager and flushed with color. “I told him,” Dr. Armstrong continued, “that he had made a mistake in not having an understanding with you, and then both could wait for marriage if circumstances made such waiting wise. Do you want to see him, Edith?”