declaration to
Bell; but Bell, young as she was, understood well that he would fain
have done so, had not his courage failed him, or rather had not his
prudence prevented him. To Mrs Dale he did speak, not openly avowing
his love even to her, but hinting at it, and then talking to her of
his unsatisfied hopes and professional disappointments. "It is not
that I complain of being poor as I am," said he, "or at any rate, not
so poor that my poverty must be any source of discomfort to me; but I
could hardly marry with such an income as I have at present."

"But it will increase, will it not?" said Mrs Dale.

"It may some day, when I am becoming an old man," he said. "But of
what use will it be to me then?"

Mrs Dale could not tell him that, as far as her voice in the matter
went, he was welcome to woo her daughter and marry her, poor as
he was, and doubly poor as they would both be together on such a
pittance. He had not even mentioned Bell's name, and had he done
so she could only have bade him wait and hope. After that he said
nothing further to her upon the subject. To Bell he spoke no word
of overt love; but on an autumn day, when Mrs Dale was already
convalescent, and the repetition of his professional visits had
become unnecessary, he got her to walk with him through the
half-hidden shrubbery paths, and then told her things which he should
never have told her, if he really wished to bind her heart to his.
He repeated that story of his income, and explained to her that
his poverty was only grievous to him in that it prevented him from
thinking of marriage. "I suppose it must," said Bell. "I should think
it wrong to ask any lady to share such an income as mine," said he.
Whereupon Bell had suggested to him that some ladies had incomes of
their own, and that he might in that way get over the difficulty. "I
should be afraid of myself in marrying a girl with money," said he;
"besides, that is altogether out of the question now." Of course Bell
did not ask him why it was out of the question, and for a time they
went on walking in silence. "It is a hard thing to do," he then
said,--not looking at her, but looking at the gravel on which he
stood. "It is a hard thing to do, but I will determine to think of
it no further. I believe a man may be as happy single as he may
married,--almost." "Perhaps more so," said Bell. Then the doctor left
her, and Bell, as I have said before, made up her mind with great
firmness that she w