"Oh, that is so like papa. He is director of an insurance company, so
all the world must insure their lives."

"No, dear, he was quite right there: professional incomes are most
precarious. Death spares neither young nor old, neither warm hearts
nor cold. I should be no true physician if I could not see my own
mortality." He hung his head and pondered a moment, then went on, sadly,
"It all comes to this--until I have a professional income of eight
hundred a year at least, he will not hear of our marrying; and the cruel
thing is, he will not even consent to an engagement. But," said the
rejected, with a look of sad anxiety, "you will wait for me without
that, dear Rosa?"

She could give him that comfort, and she gave it him with loving
earnestness. "Of course I will; and it shall not be very long. Whilst
you are making your fortune, to please papa, I will keep fretting, and
pouting, and crying, till he sends for you."

"Bless you, dearest! Stop!--not to make yourself ill! not for all the
world." The lover and the physician spoke in turn.

He came, all gratitude, to her side, and they sat, hand in hand,
comforting each other: indeed, parting was such sweet sorrow that they
sat, handed, and very close to one another, till Mr. Lusignan, who
thought five minutes quite enough for rational beings to take leave in,
walked into the room and surprised them. At sight of his gray head and
iron-gray eyebrows, Christopher Staines started up and looked confused;
he thought some apology necessary, so he faltered out, "Forgive me, sir;
it is a bitter parting to me, you may be sure."