“Yes. You see . . . it’s an odd thing,” he went on, “and one doesn’t talk about it. But you see I’m in love with her.”
There was another pause. A significant pause. “I think you’re very forgiving,” at last said a muffled voice. “I—”
“What I should like to know,” Calderon answered, as if weighing his words, “is whether she’s also very forgiving.”
“Oh,” said the voice, now very low. “You must ask her that.”
“I do,” Calderon ventured. “Are you?”
“Oh, Maurice, you’re crushing me!” cried the unknown suddenly. “There . . . Alice has finished singing. She’ll be coming. . . . Give me my ring. . . . Oh, my dear; of course I do!”
The ring was restored, to rest in its old position until memory’s course should be run.
Frank Swinnerton.
THE SURGEON
“You fellows outside the medical profession have absolutely no conception of the terrors confronting a prominent physician and of the traps and snares and pitfalls laid for him at every turn.”