How shall he say it. What words can he frame into an animated expression of his feelings? It was all mapped out before, but the words have utterly slipped his memory, as is always the case in such events.
He turns to Lady Ruth. Her hand is in her lap. He boldly reaches out and takes it. There is only a feeble resistance. Their eyes meet, "Lady Ruth, will you give me this hand?"
"You—I—what could you do with it?" she asks, turning rosy red.
"Well, to begin with—this," and he presses it passionately to his lips.
"Oh! Doctor Craig, what if some one should see you!" now struggling to free her hand, which he holds firmly.
He laughs recklessly, this hitherto shy young man. Once in the affair, he cares little for prying eyes, and indeed there is small chance of any one noticing them in this retired spot, as there are no other sight-seers around.
"I don't care who sees me. I've got to tell you what I'm sure you already know, that I love you—I love you."
He leans forward and looks in her face, which is downcast. She has ceased to struggle now, and her hand lies fluttering in his.
Such scenes as these the novelist has no business to linger over. The emotions that are brought out at such a time should be sacred from the public gaze.
John does not wait long for his answer, as Lady Ruth is a sensible girl, and really cares a great deal more for this young man than she has been ready to admit even to herself.