“There is no fire there,” Kate answered. “I think it has been lighted up-stairs, however, if you will not mind coming up, Dr. Gregg. Is there anything”—this was when he had silently followed her into the stiff drawing-room, where the newly lit fire was rather smoking than burning—“serious the matter with her, then?”
Her voice was steady, but her eyes betrayed the sudden anxiety his manner had aroused in her.
“With your sister?” he answered slowly. He was really pondering how he should say what he had come to say. But, naturally, she set down his thoughtfulness to a professional cause.
“Yes,” she said anxiously.
“Oh, no—nothing, nothing. The truth is,” continued the doctor, following up a happy thought and smiling approval of it, “the matter is with me, Miss Bonamy.”
“With you!” Kate exclaimed, opening her eyes in astonishment. Her momentary anxiety had put all else out of her head. She thought the doctor had gone mad.
“Yes,” he said jerkily, but with a grin of tender meaning. “With me. And you are the cause of it. Now do not be frightened, Miss Kate,” he continued hastily, seeing her start of apprehension. “You must have known for a long time what I was thinking of.”
“Indeed I have not,” Kate murmured in a low voice. She did not affect to misunderstand him.
“Well, you easily might have known it then,” he retorted, forgetting his rôle for an instant. “But the long and the short of it is that I want you to marry me. I do!” he repeated, overcoming something in his throat, and going on from this point swimmingly. “And you will please to hear me out, and not answer in a hurry, Miss Kate. If you like—but I should not think that you would want it—you can have until to-morrow to think it over.”
“No,” she replied impulsively, her face crimson. And then she shut her mouth so suddenly, it seemed she was afraid to let anything escape it except that unmistakable monosyllable.