“George!” cried the girl in horror.
He put his hand upon hers. “Don’t be frightened,” he said. “It will be all right, only I have to take care of myself.” How very dear of her, he thought—to be so much worried!
“George, you ought to go away to the country!” she cried. “You have been working too hard. I always told you that if you shut yourself up so much—”
“I am going to take care of myself,” he said. “I realize that it is necessary. I shall be all right—the doctor assured me there was no doubt of it, so you are not to distress yourself. But meantime, here is the trouble: I don’t think it would be right for me to marry until I am perfectly well.”
Henriette gave an exclamation of dismay.
“I am sure we should put it off,” he went on, “it would be only fair to you.”
“But, George!” she protested. “Surely it can’t be that serious!”
“We ought to wait,” he said. “You ought not to take the chance of being married to a consumptive.”
The other protested in consternation. He did not look like a consumptive; she did not believe that he WAS a consumptive. She was willing to take her chances. She loved him, and she was not afraid. But George insisted—he was sure that he ought not to marry for six months.
“Did the doctor advise that?” asked Henriette.