He looked at her intently for some moments. She seemed, as she stood there before him, like a thing of gossamer and sunshine that had drifted into his laboratory, despite the closed door.
“Say,” he suddenly exclaimed, as a new thought struck him, “I’d like to have you talk with my friend, Reverend Patterson Moore! Pat and I have barked at each other for many years now, and I’m getting tired. I’d like to shift him to a younger and more vigorous opponent. I believe you’ve been providentially sent to relieve me.”
“Well,” she acquiesced. “You can tell Professor Hitt, and––”
“Hitt, eh? You know him?”
“Yes, indeed! He comes often to our house. He is very much interested in these things that you and I have been talking about to-day. We have regular meetings, with Father Waite, and Mr. Haynerd, and––”
“Well, no wonder you can argue! You’ve had practice, it seems. But––suppose I have Hitt bring me to one of your meetings, eh?”
“Do!” cried the girl. “And bring your Reverend Pat.”
The genial doctor laughed long and incontinently. “I imagine Reverend Pat wouldn’t thank you for referring to him that way,” he said. “He is a very high Anglican, and his dignity is marvelous––to say nothing of his self-esteem. Well, we’ll see, we’ll see. But, don’t go yet! We’re just getting acquainted.”
“I must,” replied the girl. “I didn’t really mean to come in here, you know. But I guess I was led, don’t you?”