temporary sojourn at Lake Geneva.”
“Oh, very much, indeed,” replied Ethel, with a smile, “I think the rowing is simply grand, and the shady walks and drives are superb.”
“Of course as a summer resort,” said Doctor Redfield, “it may not compare with Bath or Brighton, but I doubt if the Lakes of Killarney or the scenery surrounding them surpass, in point of beauty, Lake Geneva.”
“You are quite an American, are n’t you?” said Ethel, laughingly.
“Intensely so,” replied Doctor Redfield.
“Well, we can’t quarrel on that point, for I am more in love with my own country than before I went abroad.”
“I beg pardon,” interrupted Mrs. Osborn, who had returned from escorting her companion to the parlors, “but Mrs. Horton is waiting for you, doctor.”
“Very well, I shall come at once,” he answered, while a flush of embarrassment overspread his face; then, turning to Ethel, he said, “I trust that Lake Geneva may continue to be as interesting during the next few days as it has thus far proved.”
“Thank you,” replied Ethel, and the doctor was led away by Mrs. Osborn.
In the meantime, Mrs. J. Bruce-Horton had sent her own and Mrs. Osborn’s card to Lady Avondale. Soon after Doctor Redfield concluded his professional call, Lady Avondale presented herself, and the titled Englishwoman and her American friends were profuse in their protestations of pleasure at the meeting.
After the dinner-hour, when Dr. Jack Redfield was leaving the hotel, he looked wistfully along the veranda in the hope of again seeing Ethel, but she had disappeared.
He was not only a skilful practitioner, but he knew the value of a patient like Mrs. J. Bruce-Horton, and when he had such an one on the road to recovery he was willing to humor her whims as much as the occasion permitted. As he walked toward the lake, down the graveled path so exquisitely bordered on either side with fragrant flowers, which were watered by frequent whirlabout fountains, each throwing its refreshing spray far over the lawn, a feeling of satisfaction at his professional success, and of complete contentment with the whole world, elated him. This feeling might have been continued indefinitely but for a single incident – a fate-like incident – that changed the story of his life.
As he came to a turn in the path he found Ethel reclining on a rustic seat and looking out over the blue waters of the lake.
“I am not a highwayman,” said Ethel, jestingly, “but nevertheless I mean to waylay you.”
“Indeed!” said Jack, inquiringly.
“Yes, I wanted to ask you about dear mamma. You do not think she is dangerously ill, do you?”
“By no means,” replied Doctor Redfield, reassuringly, “her indisposition is rapidly giving way to my treatment, and I think that within a week she will have quite recovered.”
“Oh, thank you, doctor, I have been so worried about her.”
“With the assurance that I have given, you may cease worrying entirely,” said Jack as he turned to leave her.
“Why are you in such haste to go?” asked Ethel, coquettishly.
“I am not particularly in haste,” replied Jack, “but perhaps I interrupt your reverie.”
“Yes, but I want to be interrupted,” returned Ethel, laughingly.
“Very well,” said Jack, seating himself near her.
Jack Redfield was anything but a Beau Brummel. The idea of yielding himself to maiden sovereignty had never occurred to him. Indeed, his lack of homage to woman might almost have been interpreted as a poverty of gallantry. Nevertheless, in the few days that he had been making professional calls on her mother, he had awakened to a knowledge of the feet that Miss Ethel interested him, to say the least. There was a wild dash of independence and of frankness about her that possessed a charm for him which he was unable to analyze.
As Jack looked out over the lake he was conscious that Ethel was studying him closely. Presently she said, “I cannot make myself believe that you are a physician.”
“Indeed, why not?” interrogated Jack, much amused by her frankness. “You evidently expected me to perform a miracle in your mother’s case, and, as I have failed to do so, you judge me harshly.”
“Oh, no! not that,” protested Ethel, “but then, I always fancied that doctors, who give bitter medicine, cut up people and saw bones, should be old and grim. Now, you don’t look like a doctor at all to me.”
“Well, as I have to make my living in the uncanny way that you have described, I must say that I am glad every one does not share your hasty judgment of me.”
“Oh, thank you,” said Ethel, “that’s very well put. I know you think I am not very kind.”
“No, I would hardly go as far as that,” said Jack, “but I doubt my ability to hold my own in a conversation with you, much more than I would my skill in a surgical operation or a bad case of measles. I have faith that my treatment would be successful, but I have no faith that you would not vanquish me very quickly with your repartee and your direct way of putting things.”
“Oh, what a refreshing compliment,” laughed Ethel. “I thought because you were a doctor that you were stoical and grim, but you really seem quite the reverse.”
“I am indeed surprised,” said Jack, “not at you, but rather at your impression of me. I did n’t know that I possessed the gift of being complimentary to ladies; in fact, the social side of my life has been very much neglected. My time has been so taken up with my studies and profession, that I have cultivated but little the ways and customs of the social world.”
“Well, you are different from some people I know – Dr. Lenox Avondale for instance – but then he is English and you are an American.”
“I am quite content to be an American, with all my stupidity in regard to social matters. He doubtless was reared among a titled aristocracy, and society is a second nature to him. I believe – pardon my frankness – that your life has been much the same, and that you will continue to dwell in a social atmosphere. From remarks made by your mother and her friend I doubt not that they have mapped out a great career for you.”
“I trust I am too loyal an American,” returned Ethel, proudly, “to take part in any career that is not entirely congenial to my own tastes, and your deductions as to yourself are quite incorrect. For my part, I think more of one who is noble and manly than I do of those English or American idlers, who think only of the latest fashions and who change their attire half a dozen times a day and are, even then, at a loss to know just what to do to kill time.”
Jack looked at Ethel as she was speaking, and he was conscious of a budding admiration for her that was quite a new feeling to him.
“Bravo,” said he, applaudingly, “those are grand sentiments. No one can say that they are un-American; but I fear that you are surrounded by conditions that may force you to change your views.”
“Oh, I assure you,” said Ethel, very earnestly, “I have the greatest admiration for workers, whether with the brain or with the hand. It is hardly fashionable, I suppose, to admit such views, but I can’t help my convictions.”
“I
