when he smiled a little quizzically and one of his eyebrows elevated itself that she realised what she was doing. She flushed and looked away hurriedly, and then said quickly:
You know, I’ve never asked you... Have you a practice in London ?”
“Yes, but it’s not a fashionable practice, if that’s what you were expecting. In fact, it’s rather unfashionable, in the dock area. But I enjoy living amongst my patients, and one day I’ll retire to the country and set up a practice there, when I grow tired of my toughs.”
“Are they so very tough?”
“Some of them. Most of them, not a bit.”
“You look to me as if you ought to have a consulting-room in Harley Street,” she admitted.
He inclined his sleek dark head.
“Thank you, Miss Andrews. But I don’t know - whether to feel flattered or otherwise.”
“I suppose, if you had a wife...” she began, diffidently, and he
threw back his head and laughed.
“I was wondering when you were coming to that,” he told her. “All women have to know whether the men of their acquaintance are married or otherwise, if only, I suppose, so that they can do something about the omission if the victim hasn’t already been caught. But I’m very much afraid I’m not the marrying kind, so don’t waste any of your energies on me. Content yourself with hoping that a woman will one day soften up Angus. And now tell me what you propose to do with your life now that you’re a rich woman? You can’t go on being a schoolmistress with your * •> income.”
“No, I suppose not,” she agreed, a little doubtfully, however. “But I like teaching—which means, of course, that I like children— and I’ve got to have something to do.”
“You could marry,” he suggested, “since we’re on the subject of marriage. Then you could have children of your own.”
“Yes.” But she was not prepared to discuss her own marriage aspirations with him since he had quite definitely snubbed her where his own were concerned —and apparently he hadn’t any. “But that’s something in the future, and what I have to plan for is the present. I haven’t yet asked to be released from my job at Stoke Moreton.”
“But you will,” he predicted.
She lifted slender shoulders.
“Perhaps. I’d like to do something useful with my life... I was wondering whether the house in Cheviot Square might be put to some purpose that would benefit someone. Perhaps a lot of people. It's far too big to be lived in as an ordinary house, and yet it has possibilities.”
“I’ve often thought so myself,” he admitted. “In fact, at one time I thought of trying to persuade Uncle Angus to let me have it for a nursing-home.” Her eyes brightened.
“That’s a good idea. Or a children’s home. “There we go again!” He laughed. “You really will have to marry, you know... And fairly soon, I would say! You seem to me to have the ideal oudook for * •> marriage.”
As she didn’t reply he leant across the table and gently patted one of her hands that was resting on the tablecloth. He spoke apologetically.
“I’m sorry if you thought I was rude just now when I refused to discuss my own ideas on marriage. If anything, they’re the ideas of a perfectionist... an idea! I don’t think I’d like to risk it!”
They looked at one another across the table. It was true, she thought, he had the slightly ascetic lines of an idealist in every contour of his face—and it was a good .face, a strong face. The eyes were a trifle brooding, but they would always inspire confidence.
And she knew now why she had not hesitated to go with him, a complete stranger, that night when he arrived at the schoolhouse to take her to old Angus.
CHAPTER SIX
THERE was the question of Giffard’s Prior. The realisation gradually sank in that it was hers now, and Tina began to toy with the idea of returning to the north country and at least visiting it again. She supposed she had every right to stay there now, and
You know, I’ve never asked you... Have you a practice in London ?”
“Yes, but it’s not a fashionable practice, if that’s what you were expecting. In fact, it’s rather unfashionable, in the dock area. But I enjoy living amongst my patients, and one day I’ll retire to the country and set up a practice there, when I grow tired of my toughs.”
“Are they so very tough?”
“Some of them. Most of them, not a bit.”
“You look to me as if you ought to have a consulting-room in Harley Street,” she admitted.
He inclined his sleek dark head.
“Thank you, Miss Andrews. But I don’t know - whether to feel flattered or otherwise.”
“I suppose, if you had a wife...” she began, diffidently, and he
threw back his head and laughed.
“I was wondering when you were coming to that,” he told her. “All women have to know whether the men of their acquaintance are married or otherwise, if only, I suppose, so that they can do something about the omission if the victim hasn’t already been caught. But I’m very much afraid I’m not the marrying kind, so don’t waste any of your energies on me. Content yourself with hoping that a woman will one day soften up Angus. And now tell me what you propose to do with your life now that you’re a rich woman? You can’t go on being a schoolmistress with your * •> income.”
“No, I suppose not,” she agreed, a little doubtfully, however. “But I like teaching—which means, of course, that I like children— and I’ve got to have something to do.”
“You could marry,” he suggested, “since we’re on the subject of marriage. Then you could have children of your own.”
“Yes.” But she was not prepared to discuss her own marriage aspirations with him since he had quite definitely snubbed her where his own were concerned —and apparently he hadn’t any. “But that’s something in the future, and what I have to plan for is the present. I haven’t yet asked to be released from my job at Stoke Moreton.”
“But you will,” he predicted.
She lifted slender shoulders.
“Perhaps. I’d like to do something useful with my life... I was wondering whether the house in Cheviot Square might be put to some purpose that would benefit someone. Perhaps a lot of people. It's far too big to be lived in as an ordinary house, and yet it has possibilities.”
“I’ve often thought so myself,” he admitted. “In fact, at one time I thought of trying to persuade Uncle Angus to let me have it for a nursing-home.” Her eyes brightened.
“That’s a good idea. Or a children’s home. “There we go again!” He laughed. “You really will have to marry, you know... And fairly soon, I would say! You seem to me to have the ideal oudook for * •> marriage.”
As she didn’t reply he leant across the table and gently patted one of her hands that was resting on the tablecloth. He spoke apologetically.
“I’m sorry if you thought I was rude just now when I refused to discuss my own ideas on marriage. If anything, they’re the ideas of a perfectionist... an idea! I don’t think I’d like to risk it!”
They looked at one another across the table. It was true, she thought, he had the slightly ascetic lines of an idealist in every contour of his face—and it was a good .face, a strong face. The eyes were a trifle brooding, but they would always inspire confidence.
And she knew now why she had not hesitated to go with him, a complete stranger, that night when he arrived at the schoolhouse to take her to old Angus.
CHAPTER SIX
THERE was the question of Giffard’s Prior. The realisation gradually sank in that it was hers now, and Tina began to toy with the idea of returning to the north country and at least visiting it again. She supposed she had every right to stay there now, and
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