CHAPTER IV.
A NIGHT CALL.
“Do you know, Ralph,” she faltered presently, “I have a faint suspicion that you are annoyed about something. What is it? Be frank now and tell me.”
“Annoyed?” I laughed. “Not at all, dearest. Nervous and impatient, perhaps. You must make allowances for me. A doctor’s life is full of professional worries. I’ve had a trying day at the hospital, and I suppose I’m quarrelsome—eh?”
“No, not quarrelsome, but just inclined to be a little suspicious.”
“Suspicious? Of what?”
Her woman’s power of penetration to the innermost secrets of the heart was marvellous.
“Of me?”