Part 12 (1/2)

”It isn't a professional consultation I want,” he answered, laughing himself, ”it's friendly counsel. Don't you remember that when you told me you couldn't love me you went on to say you hoped we should always be good friends?”

”Yes,” she responded, calmly, ”I remember that. And I hope that if I can really show any friendliness in any way, you will let me.”

”That's what I am coming to,” he returned. ”You know, I've been helping Dr. Cheever as a sort of third man while Dr. Aspinwall has been ill?

Well, Dr. Aspinwall isn't getting any better, and he's got to quit for a year, anyhow. So Dr. Cheever is going to take me with him--”

”Oh, I'm so glad!” she broke in, heartily. ”That's splendid for you, isn't it?”

”It will be splendid for me if I can keep the place and do the work to his satisfaction,” he answered.

”Oh, I guess Dr. Cheever knows what he is about,” retorted the girl, gaily. ”He knows how clever you are.”

”Thank you,” the young man returned. ”I felt sure you would be pleased, because you have always been so kind to me.”

He hesitated for a moment, and then continued: ”I feel as if I owe you an apology--”

”What for?” she asked, in surprise.

”For the way I behaved last time we--we had a talk,” he answered.

”Oh, _then_,” she commented; and it seemed to him that she had almost made an effort to retain the non-committal expression she was affecting.

”You may remember,” he went on, ”that I asked you to marry me, and that you refused, and that you told me you didn't love me at all, but you did like me--”

”What's the use of going over all that again?” she asked.

”I must make myself right with you, Miss Minnie,” he urged. ”You said we could be friends, and I was all broke up then, and I didn't know just what I was saying, and I told you friends.h.i.+p wasn't any good to me, and if I couldn't have you there wasn't anything else I wanted. I must have been rude, indeed, and it has worried me ever since.”

”I'll forgive you, if that's what you mean,” she responded. ”I hadn't really thought about it twice. It isn't of any consequence.”

”It is to me,” he returned. ”Now I've changed my mind, and if you will offer the friends.h.i.+p again I'll accept it gladly.”

”Why, Dr. Demarest!” she said, smiling, but with a flash in her gray eyes, ”of course we can be good friends, just as we have always been.

And now you needn't talk any more about this foolish misunderstanding.”

So saying she started ahead. They had been climbing a hill, and now they had on their left a broad meadow, gay with groups of tennis-players. At an opening on the right a mounted policeman sat his horse as immovable as an equestrian statue. Just before them were two gentlemen with impatient trotters trying to get a clear s.p.a.ce; and there was also a double file of young men and girls from some riding-school, under the charge of a robust German riding-master.

It was not for two or three minutes that Dr. Demarest was able to resume his position by the side of Miss Contoit.

”I had to set myself right,” he began, abruptly, ”because if we really are friends I want you to help me.”

”I shall be very glad, I'm sure,” she replied. ”I've told you so already.”

”But what I want is something very serious,” he continued.

”What is it?” she asked, drawing away from him a little.

”It's advice,” he explained.

She gave a light laugh of relief. ”Oh, _advice_,” she repeated; ”anybody can give advice.”