“Or rather, believed half of it, the cutting down part! Can you tell me physiologically,—for I think it comes into that category,—why it is that women not otherwise ill-natured, in nine cases out of ten take the worst alternative as the credible one? But never mind that. They condemn me. Is n't it so?”
“Yes; and while old Barrington insists—”
“Who cares what he insists? Such advocacy as his only provokes attack, and invites persecution. I 'd rather have no such allies!”
“I believe you are right.”
“I want fellows like yourself, doctor,—sly, cautious, subtle fellows,—accustomed to stealing strong medicines into the system in small doses; putting the patient, as you call it in your slang, 'under the influence' of this, that, and t'other,—eh?”
Dill smiled blandly at the compliment to his art, and Stapylton went on:—
“Not that I have time just now for this sort of chronic treatment. I need a heroic remedy, doctor. I 'm in love.”
“Indeed!” said Dill, with an accent nicely balanced between interest and incredulity.
“Yes, and I want to marry!
“Miss Barrington?”