"Then cannot you keep the promise you made about a disagreeable evening?" The tone was very low still—(he was arranging her footstool and chair) a little concerned too, a little—or Faith fancied it—but indeed she was not quite sure what the third part was; and then the doctor began his work.
For a minute or two she did not hear him, or heard without heed. She was thinking over Mr. Linden's question and struggling with it. For its slight tone, of remonstrance perhaps, only met and stirred into life the feeling she was trying to keep down. Her lip took one of its sorrowful curves for an instant; but then Dr. Harrison came towards them.
"What insect on the face of the earth, Linden, will you be? What does he resemble most, Miss Derrick?"
"I am not particular about being on the face of the earth," said Mr.
Linden,—"the air will do just as well."
The doctor was waiting for Faith's answer. Under the exigency of the moment she gave it him, glancing up first at the figure beside her, perhaps to refresh her memory—or imagination—and smiling a little as she spoke.
"I don't think of any he is like, Dr. Harrison."
"Do you think I am like a purple butterfly?" said the doctor.
"Yes, a little,"—said Faith. But it was with a face of such childlike soberness that the doctor looked hard at her.
"What do you think you are like yourself?" said he; not lightly.
"I think I am a little like an ant," said Faith.