The doctor smiled at her ingenuousness.

“Your father is right in claiming that he ought to be made acquainted with the young man’s reason for conduct which looks quite unwarrantable on the face of it,” said he.

But Doreen gave a little sigh.

“I don’t think that a man has a right to turn inquisitor over another man, just because the second man is ready to marry the first man’s daughter,” said she.  “And I’m sure papa wouldn’t have stood it when he was young.”

The doctor laughed.

“He ought to put up with any amount of questioning rather than lose the girl of his choice,” said he decisively.  “And if he has the stuff of a man in him he will do so.”

“But he is unhappy.  I know it,” said Doreen.

“Unhappy!” cried the doctor, indignantly.  “And what’s he got to be unhappy about, I should like to know?  He ought to be thanking Heaven on his knees all day long for getting such a nice girl to promise to marry him.  That’s the attitude a young man used to take when I was young.”

“Did you go down on your knees all day long when Mrs. Haselden promised to marry you?” asked Doreen, recovering her sauciness at the notion.  “And why should he do it till he knows what sort of a wife I am going to make?  And why should he go down on his knees more than I on mine?  When there are more women in the world than men, too!”

The doctor shook his head.

“Ah, there is no arguing with you saucy girls,” said he.  “But I know that I, for my part, don’t know of a man in the whole world who is worthy to marry one of my daughters.”

As the doctor finished speaking, the door was opened quickly, and Mr. Wedmore came in, looking white and worried.

Doreen ran to him with an anxious face.

“What have you done, papa, what have you done?  Did you see him?  What did you say?  What did you say?”

Mr. Wedmore put his arm around his daughter, and kissed her tenderly.

“Don’t trouble your head about him any more, my dear child,” said he in a husky voice.  “He isn’t worth it.  He isn’t worthy of you.”

Doreen drew away from her father, looking into his face with searching eyes and with an expression full of fear.

“Papa, what do you mean?  You have sent him away?”

Mr. Wedmore answered in a loud and angry voice; but it was clear enough that the anger was not directed against his daughter.

“I did not send him away.  He took himself off.  I had hardly begun to speak to him—­and I began quite quietly, mind—­when he made the excuse of a letter which he found waiting for him, to go back to town.  Without any ceremony, he rushed out of the study into the hall, and snatched up his hat and coat to go.”

“And is he gone?” asked Doreen, in a low voice, as she staggered back a step.

“Oh, yes, I suppose so.  And a good riddance, too.  There was no letter at all for him, I suppose.”