THE SICK-A-BED LADY
shut her lips tight and waved her hands distractedly after a manner she had when she wished to imply that she was suddenly stricken dumb. The Young Doctor laughed and reached over and kissed her.
"J'aime," he said.
"J'aime," the Sick-A-Bed Lady repeated.
"Tu aimes," he persisted.
"Tu aimes," she echoed on his lips.
—Then—"There'll be no 'he loves' to our story," he cried suddenly, and caught her so fiercely to his breast that she gave a little quick gasp of pain and struggled back on her pillows, and the Young Doctor jumped up in bitter, stinging contrition and strode out of the room. Just across the threshold he met the Old Housekeeper with a clattering tray of dishes.
"I'm going down to the Library to smoke," he said huskily to her. "Come there when you've finished. I want to talk with you."
His thoughts of himself were not kind as he wan dered into the library and settled down in the first big chair that struck his fancy.
Then he fell to wondering whether there was any thing gross about his love, because it took no heed of mental qualifications. He thought of at least three houses in the village where that very night he would have found lights and laughter and clever talk, and the prodding sympathy of earnest women
18
