Jane kept her eyes on the carpet for a moment, and then said quietly, and he thought in rather a hopeless tone: 

“It is best we go at once.”

The doctor looked at her searchingly—­with the eye of a scientist, this time, probing for a hidden meaning.

“Then there is something else you have not told me; someone is annoying her, or there is someone with whom you are afraid she will fall in love.  Who is it?  You know how I could help in a matter of that kind.”

“No; there is no one.”

Doctor John leaned back thoughtfully and tapped the arm of the sofa with his fingers.  He felt as if a door had been shut in his face.

“I don’t understand it,” he said slowly, and in a baffled tone.  “I have never known you to do a thing like this before.  It is entirely unlike you.  There is some mystery you are keeping from me.  Tell me, and let me help.”

“I can tell you nothing more.  Can’t you trust me to do my duty in my own way?” She stole a look at him as she spoke and again lowered her eyelids.

“And you are determined to go?” he asked in his former cross-examining tone.

“Yes.”

Again the doctor kept silence.  Despite her assumed courage and determined air, his experienced eye caught beneath it all the shrinking helplessness of the woman.

“Then I, too, have reached a sudden resolve,” he said in a manner almost professional in its precision.  “You cannot and shall not go alone.”

“Oh, but Lucy and I can get along together,” she exclaimed with nervous haste.  “There is no one we could take but Martha, and she is too old.  Besides she must look after the house while we are away.”

“No; Martha will not do.  No woman will do.  I know Paris and its life; it is not the place for two women to live in alone, especially so pretty and light-hearted a woman as Lucy.”

“I am not afraid.”

“No, but I am,” he answered in a softened voice, “very much afraid.”  It was no longer the physician who spoke, but the friend.

“Of what?”

“Of a dozen things you do not understand, and cannot until you encounter them,” he replied, smoothing her hand tenderly.

“Yes, but it cannot be helped.  There is no one to go with us.”  This came with some positiveness, yet with a note of impatience in her voice.

“Yes, there is,” he answered gently.

“Who?” she asked slowly, withdrawing her hand from his caress, an undefined fear rising in her mind.

“Me.  I will go with you.”

Jane looked at him with widening eyes.  She knew now.  She had caught his meaning in the tones of his voice before he had expressed it, and had tried to think of some way to ward off what she saw was coming, but she was swept helplessly on.

“Let us go together, Jane,” he burst out, drawing closer to her.  All reserve was gone.  The words which had pressed so long for utterance could no longer be held back.  “I cannot live here alone without you.  You know it, and have always known it.  I love you so—­don’t let us live apart any more.  If you must go, go as my wife.”