“No—­a little—­but not too much.”  Her deep sweet voice was trembling.  “You’re the one who frightens me.  If you only knew!  When you come like this—­with all you’ve done for me back of you—­”

“Deborah!  Don’t be a fool!”

“Oh, I know you say you’ve done nothing, except what you’ve been glad to do!  You love me like that!  But it’s just that love!  Giving up all your practice little by little, and your reputation uptown—­all for the sake of me, Allan, me!”

“You’re wrong,” he replied.  “Compared to what I’m getting, I’ve given up nothing!  Can’t you see?  You’re just as narrow in your school as Edith is right here in her home!  You look upon my hospital as a mere annex to your schools, when the truth of it is that the work down there is a chance I’ve wanted all my life!  Can’t you understand,” he cried, “that instead of your being in debt to me it’s I who am in debt to you?  You’re a suffragist, eh, a feminist—­whatever you want to call it!  All right!  So you want to be equal with man!  Then, for God’s sake, why not begin? Feel equal!  I’m no annex to you, nor you to me!  It has happened, thank God, that our work fits in—­each with the other!”

He stopped and stared, seemed to shake himself; he walked the floor.  And when he turned back his expression had changed.

“Look here, Deborah,” he asked, with an appealing humorous smile, “will you tell me what I’m driving at?”

Deborah threw back her head and laughed, and her laughter thrilled with relief.  “How sure I feel now that I love him,” she thought.

“You’ve proved I owe you nothing!” she cried.  “And that men and women of our kind can work on splendidly side by side, and never bother our poor little heads about anything else—­even marriage!”

“We will, though!” he retorted.  The next moment she was in his arms.  “Now, Deborah, listen to reason, child.  Why can’t you marry me right away?”

“Because,” she said, “when I marry you I’m going to have you all to myself—­for weeks and weeks as we planned before!  And afterwards, with a wonderful start—­and with the war over, work less hard and the world less dark and gloomy—­we’re going to find that at last we can live!  But this winter it couldn’t be like that.  This winter we’ve got to go on with our work—­and without any more silly worries or talk about whether or not we’re in love. For we are!” Her upturned face was close to his, and for some moments nothing was said, “Well?” she asked.  “Are you satisfied?”

“No—­I want to get married.  But it is now a quarter past one.  And I’m your physician.  Go straight to bed.”

She stopped him a minute at the front door: 

“Are you sure, absolutely, you understand?”

He told her he did.  But as he walked home he reflected.  How tense she had been in the way she had talked.  Yes, the long strain was telling.  “Why was she so anxious to get me out of the house,” he asked, “when we were alone for the first time in days?  And why, if she’s really sure of her love, does she hate the idea that she’s in my debt?”