CHAPTER VI

Revelations and Results

GREEN HILL September 20

The New Young Man has arrived in our village. An embarrassment of riches! He is a college friend of that Doctor Person, a painter and a poet as well! I have graciously given my consent that he be brought to call. I wonder what he looks like? Not like his name, I hope, which is Penny! Father just came upstairs, and asked me if I would be ready to see Dr. Denton in fifteen minutes. He looked quite funny when he said it, and seemed so ill at ease. I can't imagine.... Well, Diary, although the Doctor doesn't deserve it, I fancy I shall call Sarah and tell her to get me the rose-and-grey bed jacket which is so becoming--to my room!

Three Hours Later

Diary, it's not possible! I can't believe it! I've been here half an hour alone, trying to realize all that it will mean to me, and trying to collect my thoughts. Fifteen minutes to the second after Father spoke to me about this impending and oddly formal visit of the Doctor's, he ushered that gentleman into the room, placed a low chair for him by the bed, and then, taking my hands, said very gravely, "Mavis, Dr. Denton wants to talk to you for a little while. He has something which he is very anxious to persuade you to do. I have told him that, without your consent, it is impossible. You know that I will never force you to anything. But will you listen to him, dear, and for all our sakes try to say 'Yes'?" As if he had to plead with me, my father, for whom I would do anything in the world!

Since the day I was brought home, broken, I have never seen my Father so moved. More out of nervousness than anything else, I said, "Daddy, it sounds like a proposal!"

The minute I said it I was sorry--and glad. For although Father laughed, Dr. Denton looked perfectly furious! It must be painful to turn the color he does--like a--a chameleon.

Then Father kissed me. Under his breath I heard him say, "God bless my Mavis!" and in a moment I was alone with the enemy.

The steel-blue eyes regarded me for a full moment, and then, almost sternly, he spoke.

"Miss Carroll," he said, "with your permission, and with your help, without which we can do nothing, we are going to ask you to make a series of efforts: first, to sit erect unaided; then, to stand; and, by slow degrees, to walk."

There was something so confident in his tone! Perhaps he might have gone on, but I flung out both hands to him, and he waited.

"Doctor!" I cried, "Doctor--it isn't possible! I have tried! They made me try at first, and it nearly killed me. Don't make me," I begged childishly; "don't make me go through all that horror again!"

"There will be no horror," he said deliberately. "There will be pain--yes--but comparatively slight. All through the summer I have watched your case. Little by little we have stimulated the unused muscles, as you have gained in vitality. At the time following your accident, it was naturally torture to you to be forced to submit to the hands of doctors and nurses. But eleven years have gone by, and I am convinced, and have convinced both our good friend MacAllister and your father, that the injury to your back has long since healed, and that nothing remains but the inflexibility of the muscles and, if I may term it such, a type of mental paralysis."

"You mean ..." I began, not yet believing.

"I mean," he interrupted, "that your mind has persuaded your body that it will never walk again. Now, _I_ know better. Yours is not the first case of this sort which has been brought to my attention. I have seen six cures out of eight such cases during my studies abroad. They interested me very much. It was primarily your case that brought me to Green Hill. And the cure--please believe me--rests entirely with you."

"I don't believe it!" I said flatly, staring at him. "It simply isn't possible that half a hundred doctors have been mistaken." And my eyes, although my tongue did not, said very plainly, "And who are you?"

For the first time, he smiled.

"I am sorry," he said, "if I have been unable to inspire you with so little confidence. The 'half a hundred' doctors were probably quite correct--at the time they had your case. How long has it been since you have had a specialist?"

"Six--no, seven years," I answered, and shuddered.

"I thought so," he said. And then, very suddenly, "Miss Carroll, do you _want_ to walk again? Do you want to be a normal, active girl, instead of a semi-invalid?"

I hated his tone.

"Of course I do," I fairly shouted, "do--do you think I'm a fool?"

"Sometimes," answered the amazing creature, calmly.

I was too angry to speak.

"Look here, Miss Carroll," he said quietly, "let's get down to brass tacks. For eleven years you have lain on your back, allowing yourself to be waited on, coddled, wrapped in cotton wool. You have had the companionship of your father, who is the finest man in the world, but whose whole life is wrapped up in you, and who has sacrificed that life to your whims and your desires. Your father was never meant to be buried down here; not with that personality and fine brain. Think of the doors which should be open to him and which your illness has closed,--travel, society, the exploration of places and people, instead of a rather pretty, very narrow, Connecticut _rut_! You have had Sarah--sentimental to a degree under a rocky exterior, ready and anxious to work her fingers to the bone to please you. You have had an entire village at your beck and call; have dispensed justice and advice from your bed like Royalty; and you have thrived on it, my dear lady, thrived on the adoration and the sacrifice, and on your own martyrdom. Now, I am here solely to give you a chance to repay your father and all the others for their love and care and coddling. Do you realize that your father is a comparatively young man? That, by tying him to your bedside you have narrowed his life down until it consists of this room, this house, this tiny village? It's up to you to give something to your father. It may cost you pain. But I wonder if you have any idea of what you have cost him in heartache? Are you willing to make the effort, if only for his sake?"

No one in all my life had ever spoken to me like that! I was so hurt, so outraged, so bewildered, it seemed as if I just couldn't live a minute longer, with that cool, cutting voice in my ears.

"You--you--brute!" I said, choking, "It's not fair! Do you mean to tell me that I am selfish and unkind? That I don't love my father? That I am a useless, worthless hypochondriac?"

He smiled.

"Perhaps I wouldn't put it quite so strongly," he suggested courteously.

I shut my hands hard under the bedclothes and held my head very high.

"Very well," I told him, rather viciously, "I will do all you say, if Father and Doctor MacAllister are agreed."

I could feel the red spots burning on my cheeks. And in my mind I was saying, over and over, like a child, "I'll show you! _I'll show you!_" I think I almost hoped I should die--just to make him sorry. And it was so hard to keep the tears back. I wouldn't cry. I _wouldn't_.

I cried.

Suddenly, his arm was around me, and his voice, so changed, so immeasurably gentle, was saying, very close,

"You poor little kid!"

"I hate you!" I said, at that.

The arm tightened; then dropped. Dr. Denton rose.

"Good!" he said, heartily, towering above me. "That's something to work on! Well, I have your promise, and for love of your father and hate of me you'll walk yet, before the winter. And now, I will send Sarah to you with something to quiet those--outraged feelings. Tomorrow we'll begin the treatment."

Then he left the room.

And that's all Diary. I had a talk with Father. I can't set it down here. It was too beautiful and too intimate. But now that I realize all that it has meant, this long illness of mine, and all that my recovery might mean to him, I am willing to undergo any torture, any agony; willing even to endure the Cruel Magician and his Black Magic.

How I hate him, Diary! It makes me feel quite strong to hate anyone so,--I, who have always cared for people, and lived on their love.

What have I just written ... "lived on their love"...? I wonder if he is right, if I have taken everything, and given nothing in return?

Tonight, with my mind and soul in chaos, I wish more than ever that my Mother had lived.

Dear Diary, silent and loyal confidant, wish me well for tomorrow!

GREEN HILL September 22

Yesterday, Diary, was the most exhausting day I have ever survived! An alternate succession of massage and naps, and naps and massage! And two efforts to sit up! The first was quite unsuccessful. I was trembling all over with excitement, and perhaps fear. And at the very first attempt, fear of pain and the immediate succeeding pain itself, absolutely unnerved me. Dr. Mac, standing close beside the bed, looked across at his colleague. He didn't shake his head, but the expression in his keen old eyes was equivalent. Dr. Denton frowned.

"Will you try again, in a few minutes, Miss Carroll?" he asked, ignoring Dr. Mac, and the little hurt, despairing sound which I couldn't help making.

"I can't!" I said flatly.

He spread out his hands in an entirely foreign gesture of defeat.

"Of course, if you prefer not...." he suggested sketchily.

There was something so positively scornful in the look he bent on me that I writhed. I made my two eyes as much like swords as possible--I hope, Diary, that they were not crossed!--and snapped, "Do you mean to imply...?"

Suddenly I stopped. I was looking straight into the steel-blue eyes, and it was not until I saw their frosty expression change to something distinctly like triumph that I discovered that--_I was sitting up!_

Actually! But only for the fraction of a minute. It was the discovery itself, I think, that laid me flat again, with Dr. Mac's arm around me, and his disengaged hand stretched across the bed, frantically shaking Dr. Denton's.

"Laddie, 'tis mar-r-vellous!" he was saying, with a remarkable rolling of his r's.

But Dr. Denton was looking at me.

"You see," he said quietly, "that after all you _can_ do it. It is only a matter of patience, and the will to conquer. And perhaps a certain amount of--impetus."

He was smiling, quite flushed, his eyes more brilliant than I had ever seen them.

"And now," he said, "suppose I go down and tell your father. He has been walking the floor ever since we came up, I know. We won't bother you again today, Miss Carroll. But tomorrow you're going to be perfectly amazed to see how easy it will be to repeat the performance."

After he had gone, Dr. Mac walked around my little room, loquacious for once in his life.

"Isn't he a wonder?" he kept asking me. "Lassie, it's worth living for just to meet a man like that. The born healer," he kept saying over and over, "the born healer!"

"I've no doubt," I said politely, "that Dr. Denton is a very able physician."

Dr. Mac stopped in his tracks, so suddenly that he nearly fell over.

"What's this? What's this?" he said, his bushy eyebrows drawn down over his eyes, so closely that I could not see their expression.

I repeated my remark.

One piercing glance, the suspicion of a twinkle, a deep, disconcerting chuckle. And then my old friend said cryptically,

"So that's the way the land lies, little Mavis!"

"What do you mean?" I began, irritably. I seem to be in a continual state of annoyance these days, Diary.

But he had gone, and all the way downstairs I could hear him chuckling.

Even my succeeding little thanksgiving talk with Father failed to put me in a good humor again.

I think Doctor Mac is horrid!

But if I am cured, Diary, won't I make them _all_ "sit up!"

New York City September 22d

Dear Lady:

Have I offended you in any way?

Yours-willing-to-be-penitent-if-necessary RICHARD WARREN

THE CASTLE September 25th

Dear Poet:

Certainly not! But when one is slowly and forcibly being resurrected, one has little time for letter writing. Shall I tell you the program which has been laid out for me? But first of all, I must tell you that I am actually able to sit up for a few moments each day. And after I grow stronger and more daring, a chair is to be substituted for my bed, and then a wheel chair; and maybe after that a real live automobile! And finally, so I have been promised, I am to learn to walk! Fancy being such a baby! But this very morning, the Biggest, most Expensive, Busiest Specialist in the country--who knew me eleven years ago when he was not quite so big or expensive or busy--came to our little house, and after a prolonged Examination told us that there was no reason on earth why I should not recover wholly and absolutely. It will take time, he said, but it is certain. And I need undergo no knife, or painful treatment. I am only to mind, and not be in too great a hurry.

I feel as if, link by link, the fetters were falling. I hardly dare think ahead--to the day when the great round world shall be mine again. To the day when I shall go to all the places I only know from books and pictures. I want to go to the theatre. I want to see a horse race! I want to sail in a boat! And I want to walk and walk and walk! And, Poet, I want to fly!

I must never be very athletic, they say. Probably I shall never ride or skate, or even drive a car! I don't know--it doesn't matter, of course. But I do hope that I may dance! I've dreamed of dancing. You know, in my dreams, I am always strong and well.

You are happy with me and for me, I am sure. And sometimes I think that your letters and your friendship have given me courage and faith which otherwise I should not have had. It must be a beautiful world, and life must be a wonderful thing, if poets can live and make us see beauty through their clear eyes.

I am very grateful to you. And all through the perils and adventures of being reborn, I shall be glad to feel that you are thinking of me, and holding your thumbs. Will you, please?

Do you know a painter-poet named Penny? At least, that is his real name. He writes under a slightly more suitable cognomen, but I have been unable, in our brief acquaintance, to drag it from him. He seems a very nice person indeed, and made a long call on me this morning.

Wiggles wags.

Yours, in at least the fifth heaven, ME

GREEN HILL September 25

Diary, Dr. Denton brought the Penny-man to see me today. Perhaps as a flesh-and-blood flag of truce. At all events, it was more than an amusing experience. I was out-of-doors, propped up in my now very ambitious position, feeding Wiggles tea biscuits, and reading _The Lyric Hour_ for the millionth time. When the two men appeared, I was declaiming aloud, slightly drunk by the most marvellously blue-hazy day, and feeling tremendously strong and happy. After the introductions,

"I've brought you good medicine, Miss Carroll," said Dr. Denton, indicating his embarrassed friend. "A real live poet! The only one in captivity! Eats out of the hand. But--I warn you he is modest. The proverbial violet is brazen compared to Wright. And he won't lionize worth a nickel, and I am sworn to silence concerning his prowess with the pen, and even his nom-de-guerre."

Mr. Penny--isn't it a dreadful name!--and combined with Wright, too!--sat down limply in the chair beside me.

"Please," he said, pleasantly and plaintively, "don't pay any attention to him."

"I never do," I said in my sugariest tones.

Dr. Denton lowered his inches to the ground, and there, sprawled like a starfish, regarded me brightly.

"She's truthful," he assured his friend. "She never does. And you've no idea how she dislikes me. That handicaps you at the start, Wright, old fellow. Doesn't it, Miss Carroll?"

I considered Mr. Penny's amiable, blonde countenance judicially.

"It might," I agreed.

"You see?" This from the Creature in a piercing stage whisper.

"But it doesn't!" I finished, smiling brilliantly at Mr. Penny, who appeared slightly confused.

Catching at a straw, which happened to be the beloved _Lyric Hour_, the Unknown--I simply can't call him Penny all the time--it's too ridiculous!--picked up the book, which was lying beside me, and immediately gave the most theatrical start I have ever seen. I've never seen plays, of course, but I have read them, and know stage directions when I see them in the flesh. This was a particularly good example of "confronted with the tell-tale revolver, Sebastian starts violently...."

"Richard Warren," read the Stranger aloud, with a very poor affectation of indifference.

"Yes," I said, "do you know him?"

The Penny turned a beautiful crimson.

"I've read the book," he faltered.

My back may be weak, but my eyes are good. And the glance that passed between Dr. Denton and his friend did not escape me.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, old man," said the former soothingly, "particularly as it appears to be Miss Carroll's chief literary diet."

"Is it?" asked my guest, rather excitedly, I thought.

"I adore it!" I answered, with all the schoolgirl fervor I could muster. And it rang true, Diary, for it is!

Dr. Denton looked at me keenly.

"Lucky book!" he said lightly, while Mr. Penny added almost under his breath,

"Lucky author!"

He has nice, doggie, brown eyes, and very fair hair. I smiled into the former and longed to stroke the latter; it was so very smooth and shining.

"Won't you tell me about your own work?" I asked, beguilingly.

"Yes, do," urged Dr. Denton politely.

The Unknown blushed some more.

"I--I--" he began somewhat wildly, "please, let's not. I'm very new at the game, and...."

His voice trailed off, and he sat hunched up in his chair, looking at me most pitifully. I was honestly sorry for him, although not a little intrigued; and most inexplicably suspicious.

"Here's Wiggles," I said, "let's talk about him. Isn't he a duck?"

Wiggles, very sleek and beautiful, jumped gaily into my visitor's lap and they became firm friends at once.

"Why," I said, watching them, "he acts as if he knew you!"

Mr. Penny looked up quickly.

"I've one much like him, at home," he said. "Perhaps your puppy recognizes that. All my clothes are very doggy," he added, with a perfectly charming smile.

"Wiggles," I said, "has excellent judgment--generally!"

It was impossible not to cast the smallest, swiftest glance possible at my enemy, as I said it. I had the advantage; but Dr. Denton, from the ground, deliberately grinned at me.

"She means," he explained carefully, "that Wiggles is quite partial to me. And, of course, she cannot understand it."

He reached up a long, lazy arm and removed the dog from his friend's lap; then, lying flat on his back and holding Wiggles quite close to his face, he very calmly winked at him! And believe it or not, Diary, with my own eyes I saw Wiggles solemnly and unmistakably _wink back_!

If that isn't Black Magic, what is it?

After that, we three chatted comfortably for the better part of an hour. Mr. Penny, gradually coming forth from his shell, proved a wholly delightful companion. And I flirted! I've read about it in books, of course, but haven't been able to practise very much. Still, I think I did very well for a beginner. I am sure Dr. Denton thought so too, for once I heard him say "Minx!" to Wiggles, quite fretfully. Anyway, he didn't seem to like it.

When they got up to go, I begged Mr. Penny to come again.

His response was very flattering.

"Indeed I will," he began. But Dr. Denton interrupted him.

"I thought you had a pressing engagement in town," he said, significantly.

Mr. Penny made a really magnificent gesture of carelessness. "I have forgotten it!" he said.

"I'm reminding you," said his "old college chum" nastily.

I put down my hand to Wiggles, who kissed it obligingly.

"Were you ever in a manger, Wiggles darling?" I asked with interest.

Wiggles barked. And Mr. Penny, who had just discovered that Dr. Denton had been lying on his hat, turned to me with an expression of bewilderment.

"I beg your pardon," he said, with his ruined headgear in his hand.

"I was just speaking to Wiggles," I assured him.

"Oh!"

I have no doubt that he thought me mad. Still, he must like a certain form of insanity, for his farewell was almost tragic.

As he left, he bent near me and said, quite low, "I'm awfully glad you like Richard Warren, Miss Carroll."

"Why?" I asked innocently. But, if he answered at all, his reply was swallowed up in Dr. Denton's laugh, an insulting cachinnation, to say the least.

And as _he_ left, the Creature bent near me and said, quite loudly, "You don't fight fair, Adversary!"

I suppose, Diary, if I repeat how much I dislike him, you will finally cease to believe me. But I think you may safely take it for granted.

Isn't it odd that Mr. Penny should be very blond and shy? It isn't possible that...? Of course not, and yet.... Well, foolish of me or not, it will be difficult to write Richard Warren now, as long as I half suspect. There was a stiltedness about my letter to him today even. And yet.... I can't quite believe it. Probably Mr. John Denton was only drawing on his imagination, after all! Still...?

New York City September 28th

Dear Lady!

I have been out of town for a few days, and when I returned was greeted by your letter. Even the envelope looked happy! And I am so supremely glad for you. The keys of my typewriter would sing like a piano, if they could. Isn't that the most absurd sentence? But I feel absurdly gay, myself. For now, perhaps, I can persuade you to let me come to your next lawn party. You never answered my question, by the way. So, being a persistent devil, I repeat it. May I?

Honestly, I eat with a fork, and my hair is cut in accordance with the usual--rather hideous--fashion set for members of my sex.

I don't seem to remember your friend with the interesting name. Perhaps, if you could discover his pen name...? But I really know very few people of writing bent.

I've been out of town, and was delightfully entertained by a very old friend of mine. And have come back with tons of inspiration for the new book, which, by the way, is rapidly growing. Mr. Denton is anxious for an early publication, but I do not feel that I can complete the volume until Spring.

Would you care for it as a coming-out present? I should be very proud....

Dear little Lady, I am certain that these must be very trying days for you. And I am holding my thumbs hard! Our pen and ink friendship has been so dear to me, all these summer months. It has been both letter and spirit, has it not? Can you forgive the atrocious punning? And I am hoping that very soon you will make yourself known to me, and let me come where you are and tell you.... But, until you do, I cannot tell you _what_!

Yours always, Richard Warren

October 1st

Dear Mr. Warren:

Please, please, don't ask me to let you come! I am so afraid--of so many things! And I am certain that you would be very disillusioned. Really, I'm a most disagreeable person in the flesh! I can refer you to at least one person who sees me every day and who thinks so!

Won't you be content to allow me to remain just a small, and, I hope, sympathetic Voice out of an Unknown Darkness?

Very sincerely, YOUR FRIEND

GREEN HILL October 1, In-the-evening,

Diary dear, I have written Richard Warren that our acquaintance must remain a pen-and-paper one. It is so much wiser to leave things that way. Once, I would have been tempted.... But somehow, now, I am not.

Adeline, Dr. Denton's cook, arrived this morning armed with one of her inimitable chocolate cakes, and a note from her wretched employer. I received her rather coldly, I am afraid; but I have not yet recovered from the cap-setting incident. However, she is a disarming creature, and the cake, which in part graced my luncheon tray, was delicious. I can't offer you any, but I can set down for your amusement the accompanying script.

GREEN HILL October 1st

My dear Miss Carroll:

As I have a number of messages to deliver to you from our mutual friend, Penny, and also a matter which I wish to personally discuss with you, may I invite myself to tea this afternoon? I have ascertained, you see, that your father will be in the city!

In a professional capacity, I am able to go and come as I please. But as this call is quite unprofessional in character, and partakes somewhat of the nature of an armed truce, I do not feel that I can come without your consent.

Adeline will wait for your answer. I am, meantime, scouring the town for a white flag.

Yours very sincerely, WILLIAM DENTON

I must confess, Diary, to a seizure of acute curiosity. Weakly, I bade Adeline tell her master to wait on me at four, and sending for Sarah ordered extra tea with which to placate the savage appetite of my self-bidden guest. We had tea out-of-doors, for October has come in like a spring day, warm and clear and beautiful. I was in my hammock, whither Sarah and Father had conveyed me at three, just before Father's train left Green Hill, and had therefore an hour of speculation. And it was not without a certain thrill of excitement that I saw a tall, lean figure swing across the lawn towards me, and appropriate the low chair beside me and the tea table.

"Good afternoon," I said politely.

"Good afternoon," he answered, "it was nice of you to let me come."

Wiggles, a sixth doggie sense telling him I had a caller, came racing across to us from the kitchen garden, where I have no doubt he had been destructively employed, and greeted the Doctor with an exaggerated display of cordiality. When he was disposed of finally, under my visitor's chair, "Lovely day," I proffered, one hand concealing a tiny yawn.

"Lovely!" agreed Dr. Denton, enthusiastically.

Conversation languished. Died.

Finally, the silence becoming quite unbearable, I stole a look at the enemy. His lips were pursed in a noiseless whistle, his hands were informally in his pocket, and his eyes were dancing. It is disconcerting that I should have to acknowledge his extreme good looks. I never did care much for good-looking men, anyway. They're so disgustingly conceited. And Dr. Denton possesses an almost spectacular combination of features, coloring, and build.

"Did you speak?" he asked gently.

"I did not!" said I, with emphasis.

"Don't shoot," begged the Unwelcome One. "I'll come down. Or," he asked anxiously, "can you see the whites of my eyes?"

I laughed. I couldn't help it. The situation was so perfectly ridiculous. And so, we laughed together.

Sarah, beaming, appeared with tea and cookies and cake.

"Please pour," I said to Dr. Denton, "and please have some of your own cake. Thank you," I added carefully, "for sending it to us."

"Oh, I didn't send it," he answered cheerfully, manipulating china and silver with dexterity. "It was Adeline's thought. Merely, she asked my permission."

"Oh!" I said, in a small voice, and accepted a cup of tea.

Dr. Denton fed Wiggles cake, and engaged him in loud conversation.

I scalded my throat on tea, and promptly dropped the cup. This, at least, created some diversion. Dr. Denton sprang up, scattering Wiggles, cups, napkins, and spoons with equal indifference, and mopped up the deluge.

"Did you hurt yourself?" he asked, in quite an agonized tone.

"No," I replied, dripping, "but I have burned my throat most awfully. I'm afraid I shan't be able to talk for quite a while."

"May I see?" spoke the physician, with solicitude.

I put out my tongue very soberly.

Dr. Denton returned hastily to his chair.

"You spoke," I suggested, "in your note, of messages."

"Did I?" he returned, in a puzzled tone. "It must be my handwriting. No doctor writes intelligibly."

This was really too much. I beat with my fist upon the unoffending hammock, and asked, "Has your friend...?"

"Gone? Yes, very unfortunately. He had, as I reminded him, a pressing engagement in town. I, myself, took him to the train," concluded the aggravating creature proudly.

"How nice of you," I said heartily, "but you must miss him."

"Intolerably."

The duologue showed symptoms of declining again.

Finally,

"Did you want to see me?" I asked courteously.

"Not particularly," he replied, "but under the white flag, as I suggested, I wanted to make a partial treaty with you, with, of course, your consent."

"I am listening," I said cautiously.

Suddenly he moved his chair nearer, crossed his legs, and lay back, hands locked across his knees.

"Look here," he said, "isn't it time that we declared ourselves in open battle? This guerilla warfare ..." he paused, suggestively, and I waited.

"You have made it very plain," he went on, "that you do not like me. Perhaps I am putting it mildly. At all events, as your medical adviser, I am forced to inflict my presence frequently upon you. Your father likes me. Sarah likes me; Wiggles likes me. Couldn't you," he asked earnestly, "try to overcome your aversion, for the sake of the majority?"

I considered.

"I think not," I said finally.

"Very well. Having appealed to your filial respect, your better self, there is nothing to do but ask you to sign a temporary armistice. For I am beginning to find your concentrated attack rather ... wearing."

I smiled.

"I wish," said Dr. Denton carefully, "to give you every opportunity to humiliate and infuriate me. I have always believed a little aversion to be an excellent beginning to matrimony. I don't suppose," he continued hopefully, "that by way of simplifying things you would care to marry me?"

He bit into a large sugar cookie reflectively.

"Marry!" I shouted, sitting bolt upright. I can do it now, Diary, if the occasion demands.

"Marry," said he, with the utmost calmness, but with twinkling eyes.

I collapsed.

"I think you are perfectly insane," I began. And then ceased, for want of words.

Dr. Denton sighed.

"I was afraid I couldn't persuade you," he said. "Let us pass to the next point."

I was still gasping, like a fish.

"You find your throat better with your mouth open?" he asked, with interest.

I closed it with a snap. And kept it closed.

"As my wife," he remarked, "you would have ample opportunities for delicate and refined torture. However.... You have called me, perhaps rightly, a 'brute'. Am I to infer that you still continue to regard me in that unflattering light?"

I nodded. Speech, by now, was wholly beyond me.

"And I," he went on, "have intimated what I, as an honest man, think of you. It is quite plain that I do not like you any better than you like me. You have, I think, the makings of a rather nice girl. But I have never cared for ... kittens. Now that we are agreed to disagree, Miss Carroll, will you shake hands with me, and for the sake of our enforced relationship, pledge yourself neither to stab me in the back or bite me, when I am not looking? When you are quite well again, I am at your mercy. But until then, I must entreat you not to hamper your recovery, and blast my medical reputation, by consistently opposing me at every turn. Are you willing to play friends with me until such time when I can set you on your feet?"

He held out his hand and smiled. The whole thing was ridiculous, and he had been unnecessarily insulting. And yet ... it was a nice smile, Diary. I have even seen my Peterkins smile just like that, hopefully, ingratiatingly. And after all, I do owe him so much.

Silently I laid my hand in his.

"Good!" said he, gripping it. "And tomorrow you are going to sit up, in a real, substantial chair. After that, you'll be walking before you know it."

The silly tears came to my eyes.

"I am grateful...." I faltered.

"Don't be," he said cheerfully, "if you dislike the sensation. It's all in the interest of science, you know."

He snapped his fingers at Wiggles, and got up to go.

"I'm going for Sarah," he said, "you must be taken back to your room now. It's getting chilly."

Once having established me in my room, Dr. Denton bent over me.

"And," he said, very much under his breath, "won't you consider my proposal? I meant it, you know!"

And then he had gone.

I'd like to accept him, out of spite, Diary. And, never having expected a proposal, I find even this one somehow exciting.

Diary, if only you could talk!