"Aren't you going to let me go?" she demanded, afterward, but very
faintly.

"No," said he, boldly. "I'm going to keep you--always." There was
conviction in the tone.

She stood silent a minute, listening to his heart and her own, and
digesting this bit of news.

"Are you--quite sure about--that?" she asked at length.

"I'd tell a man! Unless"--he held her off and looked at her--"you don't
like me. But you do, don't you?" His eyes were searching her face.

The Little Doctor struggled to release herself from the arms which held
her unyieldingly and tenderly. Failing this, she raised her eyes to the
white silk handkerchief knotted around his throat; to the chin; to the
lips, wistful with their well defined curve; to the eyes, where they
lingered shyly a moment, and then looked away to the horizon.

"Don't you like me? Say!" He gave her a gentle shake.

"Ye--er-it doesn't seem to matter, whether I do or not," she retorted
with growing spirit--witness the dimple dodging into her cheek.

"Yes, it does--it matters a whole heap. You've dealt me misery ever
since I first set eyes on you--and I believe, on my soul, you liked to
watch me squirm! But you do like me, don't you?"