Miss Gwilt spoke first.
“I think I understand you,” she said, suddenly recovering her composure.
“I beg your pardon,” returned the doctor, with his hand to his ear. “What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“If you happened to catch another fly this morning,” said Miss Gwilt, with a bitterly sarcastic emphasis on the words, “I might be capable of shocking you by another ‘little joke.’”
The doctor held up both hands, in polite deprecation, and looked as if he was beginning to recover his good humor again.
“Hard,” he murmured, gently, “not to have forgiven me that unlucky blunder of mine, even yet!”
“What else have you to say? I am waiting for you,” said Miss Gwilt. She turned her chair to the window scornfully, and took up her work again, as she spoke.
The doctor came behind her, and put his hand on the back of her chair.