“There may be better things,” she retorted, “than those you rate so highly.”

“Not for you,” he said.

“If they are gone,” she told him, with a flush of resentment, “it is not you who can bring them back.”

“But let me try, Grizel,” said he.

“David, can I not even make you angry with me?”

“No, Grizel, you can’t.  I am very sorry that I can make you angry with me.”

“I am not,” she said dispiritedly.  “It would be contemptible in me.”  And then, eagerly:  “But, David, you have made a great mistake, indeed you have.  You—­you are a dreadful bungler, sir!” She was trying to make his face relax, with a tremulous smile from herself to encourage him; but the effort was not successful.  “You see, I can’t even bully you now!” she said.  “Did that capacity go with the others, David?”

“Try a little harder,” he replied.  “I think you will find that I submit to it still”

“Very well.”  She forced some gaiety to her aid.  After all, how could she let his monstrous stupidity wound a heart protected by such a letter?

“You have been a very foolish and presumptuous boy,” she began.  She was standing up, smiling, wagging a reproachful but nervous finger at him.  “If it were not that I have a weakness for seeing medical men making themselves ridiculous so that I may put them right, I should be very indignant with you, sir.”

“Put me right, Grizel,” he said.  He was sure she was trying to blind him again.

“Know, then, David, that I am not the poor-spirited, humble creature you seem to have come here in search of—­”

“But you admitted—­”

“How dare you interrupt me, sir!  Yes, I admit that I am not quite as I was, but I glory in it.  I used to be ostentatiously independent; now I am only independent enough.  My pride made me walk on air; now I walk on the earth, where there is less chance of falling.  I have still confidence in myself; but I begin to see that ways are not necessarily right because they are my ways.  In short, David, I am evidently on the road to being a model character!”

They were gay words, but she ended somewhat faintly.

“I was satisfied with you as you were,” was the doctor’s comment.

“I wanted to excel!”

“You explain nothing, Grizel,” he said reproachfully.  “Why have you changed so?”

“Because I am so happy.  Do you remember how, in the old days, I sometimes danced for joy?  I could do it now.”

“Are you engaged to be married, Grizel?”

She took a quiet breath.  “You have no right to question me in this way,” she said.  “I think I have been very good in bearing with you so long.”

But she laid aside her indignation at once; he was so old a friend, the sincerity of him had been so often tried.  “If you must know, David,” she said, with a girlish frankness that became her better, “I am not engaged to be married.  And I must tell you nothing more,” she added, shutting her mouth decisively.  She must be faithful to her promise.