"Oh, it's of no consequence. I think there is no doubt that this is only a feverish cold. I wish I had no more serious case. Go on with the mixture, but I should like Miss Simpson to take some quinine as well. I have no doubt she will be about again in a few days." He wrote a prescription--very unnecessarily, Mona thought,--and then she followed him down-stairs. When they reached the shop he deliberately stopped, and turned to face her. He did not speak; his mind was in a whirl. He was thinking no longer of the beauty of her mind, and character, and face; he had ceased even to admire. He only knew that he wanted her, that he had found her out, that she was his by right; every other thought and feeling was merged in the consciousness that he was alone with the woman he loved. Oh, how good it was to lose one's self at last in a longing like this! His back was turned to the light, and Mona wondered why her "playfellow" was so silent. "This is an unfortunate holiday for you," she said. He shook himself out of his dream, and answered gaily, "Oh, I don't know. This sort of thing is a rest in one way at least,--it does not call the same brain-cells into requisition, and it gives me a little anticipation of the manhood my cursed folly has postponed." Of course the humble words were spoken very proudly; and he looked every inch a man even to eyes that still retained a vivid picture of the Sahib. His shoulders seemed more broad and strong in the heavy becoming Inverness cape, he held himself more upright than formerly, and his face had gained an expression of quiet self-confidence. "Work suits you," said Mona, smiling. "That it does!" He brought his closed fist vehemently down upon the counter. "When my examination is over, Miss Maclean, I shall be a different being,--in a position to do and say things that I dare not do and say now." He spoke with emphasis, half hoping she would understand him, and then broke off with sudden bitterness-- "Unless I fail!" "_You_ fail!" laughed Mona. "Ah! so outsiders always say. I can assure you, you have no idea how chancy those London examinations are." The colour rushed into her face. A dozen times she had tried to ask Rachel's permission to tell him all; a dozen times the question, "Why him rather than any one else?" had sealed her lips. What if she were to make a clean breast of it now, and risk her cousin's anger afterwards! She could never hope for such another opportunity. She was determined to use it, to tell him she knew the chances of those examinations only too well; but to her surprise she found the confession far more difficult than the one she had made to the Sahib. At the very thought of it, her heart beat hard and her breath came fast.