she had not intended any thing. If the doctor had understood more about
love, he would have known that all manifestations in Hetty at this time
were simply like the unconscious flutterings of a bird in the hand in
which it is just about to nestle and rest. But he did not understand,
and when Hetty, following him into the hall, stood shyly by his side,
and looking up into his face said inquiringly, "Doctor?" he answered
her as she had answered him, a short time before, with the curt
monosyllable, "Well?" His tone was curter than his words. Hetty colored,
and saying gently, "No matter; nothing now," turned away. Her whole
movement was so significant of wounded feeling that it smote Doctor
Eben's heart. He sprang after her and laid his hand on her arm. "Hetty,"
he said, "do tell me what it was you were going to say; I did not mean
to hurt your feelings: but I don't know what to make of you."

"Not--know--what--to--make--of--me!" repeated Hetty, very slowly, in a
tone of the intensest astonishment.

"You wouldn't say you loved me," replied the doctor, beginning to feel a
little ashamed of himself.

Hetty's eyes were fixed on his now, with no wavering in their gaze. She
looked at him, as if her life lay in the balance of what she might read
in his face.

"Did you not know that I loved you before you asked me to say so?" she
said with emphasis. It was the doctor's turn now to color. He answered
evasively:

"A man has no right to know that, Hetty, until a woman tells him so."