I was still gasping, like a fish. "You find your throat better with your mouth open?" he asked, with interest. I closed it with a snap. And kept it closed. "As my wife," he remarked, "you would have ample opportunities for delicate and refined torture. However.... You have called me, perhaps rightly, a 'brute'. Am I to infer that you still continue to regard me in that unflattering light?" I nodded. Speech, by now, was wholly beyond me. "And I," he went on, "have intimated what I, as an honest man, think of you. It is quite plain that I do not like you any better than you like me. You have, I think, the makings of a rather nice girl. But I have never cared for ... kittens. Now that we are agreed to disagree, Miss Carroll, will you shake hands with me, and for the sake of our enforced relationship, pledge yourself neither to stab me in the back or bite me, when I am not looking? When you are quite well again, I am at your mercy. But until then, I must entreat you not to hamper your recovery, and blast my medical reputation, by consistently opposing me at every turn. Are you willing to play friends with me until such time when I can set you on your feet?" He held out his hand and smiled. The whole thing was ridiculous, and he had been unnecessarily insulting. And yet ... it was a nice smile, Diary. I have even seen my Peterkins smile just like that, hopefully, ingratiatingly. And after all, I do owe him so much. Silently I laid my hand in his. "Good!" said he, gripping it. "And tomorrow you are going to sit up, in a real, substantial chair. After that, you'll be walking before you know it." The silly tears came to my eyes. "I am grateful...." I faltered. "Don't be," he said cheerfully, "if you dislike the sensation. It's all in the interest of science, you know." He snapped his fingers at Wiggles, and got up to go. "I'm going for Sarah," he said, "you must be taken back to your room now. It's getting chilly." Once having established me in my room, Dr. Denton bent over me. "And," he said, very much under his breath, "won't you consider my proposal? I meant it, you know!" And then he had gone. I'd like to accept him, out of spite, Diary. And, never having expected a proposal, I find even this one somehow exciting. Diary, if only you could talk! CHAPTER VII GREEN HILL October 14 Diary, it is quite two weeks since I have made an entry, but the thrills of actually sitting up, in a big chair, downstairs in front of a seasonable log fire, and the even more exciting adventure of short wheel-chair rides in the sheltered paths of a chrysanthemum garden, have for the moment entirely occupied my time and thoughts. Even to the exclusion of you! And now, Father is talking of taking me South for the winter. Just as soon as I am able to walk a little, he wants to take me--and Sarah--and Wiggles--to Florida, so that I need not undergo the trials of a Northern winter.