“I am glad I have found you,” repeated Tarbot. He spoke in a hurry, and as though he were slightly out of breath. “I rushed off here in great haste. I must see a patient again before midnight. The man will probably die when the new day dawns, and he has a longing to have me with him when he breathes his last.” Barbara was silent, but her eyes, as if mesmerized, fixed themselves on Tarbot. “It is a relief to see you, Miss Evershed: you look so bright—as if you had never known sorrow or illness. The contrast between that dying man’s agony and your grace and beauty is enough to stagger one. Yes, I can stay but for a quarter of an hour. I promised Mr. Harlington to be with him when he died.” “Why did you leave him?” said Barbara in her slow voice. She always spoke in a slow, reflective sort of way. “Does not the contrast make you ill?” she continued. “The frivolity of life one moment, a death-bed the next. I do not know how you doctors can live; you must get terribly hard as the years go on. Well, I must go back to our guests; mother will want me to help her. There are a great many people here to-night.” “The rooms are packed and the heat is stifling. Why should you join that overheated throng? As to your mother wanting you, she told me where I should find you, and said nothing about asking you to go to her. Please stay——” Barbara paused with her hand upon the frame of the open window. “Yes?” she asked in an interrogative way. “I should not have left a dying man if I had not a special reason for doing so.” “Yes?” replied Barbara again. “You are the reason.” “I am very sorry indeed to hear it, Dr. Tarbot. I do not think your reason adequate. Now I must go back to our guests.” “You must not,” said Dr. Tarbot firmly. “I came here with the express purpose of seeing you, and I will not be foiled. You will stay with me for a moment or two. I want to say, to say——” Barbara returned once more to the balcony. She saw that the man must have his opportunity, and she knew that she was in for a bad quarter of an hour. She closed her big fan and held it in both hands. “You know what I want to say.” “Yes,” replied Barbara. She made a short pause before she uttered the single word. Then she added, marked deliberation in her tone, “Is it a gentlemanly action to detain a girl against her will?” “Barbara, you must know what I mean.” “When did I give you leave, Dr. Tarbot, to call me by my Christian name?” “I used to call you Barbara when you were a child. Do you never remember the old days?” “Those days are over,” answered Barbara. “Now, please, say what you have to say.” “And then go, is that it?” “Will you speak?” “I will. My words can be soon said. I love you—I want you for my wife. I am determined to win you.” “Determined!” said Barbara. “You are very bold, Dr. Tarbot.” “I was never a coward. I will plead with you until I succeed. You are the only woman in all the world whom I love. I will have you.”