"That's easier said than done; but I intend to have it over; it's doing me no good. I wish I'd never seen her."
"Why don't you write?"
"I've thought of that, but I concluded I wouldn't. It looked cowardly not to face the music."
"My dear fellow," said I, "there is no cowardice in it at all. You ought to do it, or else bury the whole thing, and I don't suppose you can do that."
"No, I can't do that; if I don't see her shortly, I shall write."
I was very glad to hear this. From what he had just said, coupled with my knowledge of the Doctor and of Lydia, I did not think his chance worth a penny, and I felt certain that the best thing for him to do was to bring matters to a conclusion. He would recover sooner.
At ten o'clock I was with Dr. Khayme. He told me that Lydia had arrived in the night, and that he had just accompanied her to the hospital.
"And how is our friend Willis to-day?" he asked; "is he a little less out of sorts?"
"He is friendly to-day, Doctor."
"Did you tell him that I remarked about his abrupt manner?"