The Doctor sprang to his feet, and stepping across to where George sat, laid his hand tenderly on his head.
"My dear boy," said he, "my dear George, what does all this mean?"
"Nothing, father," said George, raising his head, and shaking himself together, as it were, "nothing, father--nothing, at least, which should lead a man to make a fool of himself; but your last words were rather a shock to me, for I love Annette Derinzy, and I had hoped----"
"You love Annette Derinzy! You, whom we have all laughed at so long for your celibate notions, to have fallen in love now, and with Annette Derinzy! My poor boy, this is a bad business--a very bad business, indeed. I don't see what is to be done to comfort you."
"Nor I, father, nor I. You distinctly say there is no hope of her cure?"
"Speaking so far as I can judge, there is none. If she were under my special care for a certain number of weeks, so that I saw her daily--Bah! I am talking as I might do to the friends of a patient. To you, my dear George, I say it would be of no use. It is a horrible verdict, but a true one--she can never be cured."
George was silent for a minute; then he said:
"Would there be any use in having a consultation?"
"My dear boy, not the slightest in the world. I will meet anyone that could be named. If this were a professional case, I should insist on a consultation, and the family apothecary would probably call in this old fool whose pamphlet I am just reviewing--Dilsworth, I mean, or Tokely, or Whittaker, or one of them; but I don't mind saying to my own son, that I am perfectly certain I know more than any of these men of my peculiar subject, and that, except for the mere sake of differing, they always in such consultations take their cue from me."
Another pause; then George said, his face suddenly lighting up: