"Because, if I were a marrying woman, which I'm not, I shouldn't hesitate
between you and Captain Naylor, not for a minute."

"You'd jump at me?"

Laughing again, his eyes had now a schoolboy merriment in them, Mary rose
from the big chair. "At him, if I'm not being impolite, Mr. Beaumaroy."

They stood face to face. For the first time for several years--Mary's
girlhood had not been altogether empty of sentimental episodes--she
blushed under a man's glance, because it was a man's. At this event, of
which she was acutely conscious and at which she was intensely irritated,
she drew herself up, with an attempt to return to her strictly
professional manner.

"I don't find you the least impolite, Dr. Arkroyd," said Beaumaroy.

It was impudent, yet gay, dexterous, and elusive enough to avoid reproof.
With no more than a little shake of her head and a light yet embarrassed
laugh, Mary moved toward the door, her way lying between the table and an
old oak sideboard, which stood against the wall. Some plates, knives, and
other articles of the table lay strewn, none too tidily, about it.
Beaumaroy followed her, smiling complacently, his hands in his pockets.

Suddenly Mary came to a stop and pointed with her finger at the
sideboard, turning her face towards her companion. At the same instant
Beaumaroy's right hand shot out from his pocket towards the sideboard, as
though to snatch up something from it. Then he drew the hand as swiftly
back again; but his eyes watched Mary's with an alert and suspicious
gaze. That was for a second only; then his face resumed its amused and