"When we are married," she asked, tremulously, "will all these sick people keep you from me——"
"A doctor belongs to his patients, my dear——"
"I suppose he does," pensively, "but I shall be terribly jealous of your old men with the pneumonia, and your girls with appendicitis. I shall want you."
If she had hoped to please him by her frank avowal she failed, for he stood looking at her with an expression which made her say hastily, "Don't you want me to want you?"
"I was wondering if I could make you happy."
She gave a little musical note of protest. "I am the happiest girl in the world, except—oh, if mother could only know."
With a quick change of mood, she was sobbing in his arms. The masses of her hair lay soft against his lips, one slim white hand crept to touch his cheek. He imprisoned the small hand in his. "We must have a ring for this soon," and she shifted her head so that she could look up at him from under wet lashes. "Oh," she said, "shall I?"
"Of course. What shall it be?"
"Anything but pearls; they mean tears, you know."
With a quick throb of the heart, he remembered that Diana always wore pearls. Was there something after all in the old superstition, and were the rest of Diana's days to be dreary because she had chosen the wrong jewels?