She eyed his calm, reserved countenance with friendly admiration. "You are an awfully good fellow, Dick, but dull. At the same time dull and transparent. Are you going to sit still and let that dangerous patient of yours marry the finest girl in town?"
"Your admiration for girls is always stronger than mine, Jane; and I have, if you will pardon the boast, more than one patient."
"All right, Dick—if you want it made perfectly clear to your understanding. Do you mean to let Morton Elder marry Vivian Lane?"
"What business is it of mine?" he demanded, more than brusquely—savagely.
"You know what he's got."
"I am a physician, not a detective. And I am not Miss Lane's father, brother, uncle or guardian."
"Or lover," added Dr. Bellair, eyeing him quietly. She thought she saw a second's flicker of light in the deep gray eyes, a possible tightening of set lips. "Suppose you are not," she said; "nor even a humanitarian. You are a member of society. Do you mean to let a man whom you know has no right to marry, poison the life of that splendid girl?"
He was quite silent for a moment, but she could see the hand on the farther arm of his chair grip it till the nails were white.
"How do you know he—wishes to marry her?"
"If you were about like other people, you old hermit, you'd know it as well as anybody. I think they are on the verge of an engagement, if they aren't over it already. Once more, Dick, shall you do anything?"