by Peggy Gaddis
“Safe for me to come out now?” he asked softly.
“You coward!” Hilary turned on him. “You’ve been listening—why didn’t you come out and help me?”
“From what I heard, I thought you and Mrs. Keenan were handling things beautifully,” he assured her, and then his eyes went beyond her to the door and Hilary whirled about.
Mr. Hodding was holding the door open and Mrs. Barton, very smart and looking very pretty in her becoming thin gray suit, a purple orchid on her shoulder, walked in, head high, cheeks pink, eyes bright.
“So there you are!” Hilary greeted them, affection in her eyes, as she took in the bright banners of happiness that seemed to wrap them about.
“Here we are,” said Mr. Hodding happily. “Miss Westbrook, may I present my wife?”
Mrs. Hodding looked up at him radiantly, and touched the orchid on her shoulder with gentle fingers.
“Isn’t it lovely? Oh, Hilary dear—we’re married!”
“Well, congratulations, Mr. Hodding. My best wishes, Mrs. Hodding,” said Hilary and Dr. Marsden echoed the good wishes. “There’s someone waiting to see you. They’re in the dining room.”
There was just the tiniest instant in which Mrs. Hodding looked frightened. And then she tucked her white-gloved hand through her brand-new husband’s arm, lifted her chin and said sweetly, “Come, my dear, I want you to meet my children.”
“By all means, dear,” said Mr. Hodding pleasantly, and above her head winked at Dr. Marsden and Hilary. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”
And as they walked across the lobby and into the dining room, Hilary once more had the feeling that she heard the sound of trumpets, not so faint nor so far away now.
Momentarily, she was forgetful of Dr. Marsden as the big thick glass doors cutting off the dining room from the lobby swung shut behind the couple. Until he spoke very quietly.
“Well, what do you think now about the practice of geriatrics?” he asked softly.
Hilary looked up at him, startled, and beneath the warmth in his eyes felt her color rise.
“Oh, it’s a fascinating study and—and very important,” she told him hurriedly, and would have walked away, but he caught her hand and drew her into his office and closed the door in Ethel’s disappointed face.
“Important enough to persuade you to stay on with me for at least a few more months?” Dr. Marsden asked as the door closed behind them.
“Oh, but I can’t. Mr. Ramsey has interviewed some nurses ...” she stammered.
“And found none of them satisfactory,” Dr. Marsden interrupted.
“And I’ve already placed my name on file at the Nurses’ Registry for another job.”
“I cancelled that.”
Startled, wide-eyed, she stared up at him.
“But—but—why would you do that?” she stammered inanely.
“Several reasons,” he told her cheerfully, a twinkle in his eyes that did not quite hide the warmth there. “One being you’re an ideal nurse for a place like this; also, Drew and I have come to an agreement about using the wards—”
“Oh, I’m so glad! That’s wonderful!”
“And of course, I’ll need you to assist me there.”
Her heart, that had been standing on tiptoe, practically fell flat on its silly face and she turned her eyes away from him.
“But the main reason I have no intention of ever letting you go, my dearest, is that I no longer think I’m in love with you, I know it beyond the smallest infinitesimal shadow of a doubt,” he went on, and now all hint of raillery was gone from his voice, and his arms were holding her close against him, so that against her out-flung palm she could feel the rapid thudding of his heart. “So, having found you, I can’t possibly let you go. You do see that, don’t you?”
Because her face was flaming with color, because at the moment she dared not let him see her eyes, she hid her face against his shoulder and his arms tightened about her, his cheek against her hair, the pert little cap slipping its moorings beneath that pressure.
When the silence had endured for what she felt was an age-long time, he put his fingers beneath her chin, tilted her face upward so that he could look down into it. But still she could not let him see her eyes, for fear of the revelation they would make of her inner tumult.
“I asked you a question,” he said softly. “Don’t you know it’s impolite not to answer a question?”
“I guess I d-d-didn’t hear it.”
“I asked you to marry me.”
“You didn’t! You only said you didn’t want to let me go.”
Dr. Marsden laughed at the sharp indignant answer and his arms held her still closer.
“Then I ask you now,” he said tenderly. “My dearest dear, my beloved, will you please marry me?”
“Why—why, yes, thanks, I’d love to,” stammered Hilary, and lifted her mouth for his kiss.