“Your son Tom is in love. That is what ails him.”
“Are you serious?” Mr. Merriwether was frowning fiercely now.
“You'll think so,” retorted Frauenthal, coldly, “when you get my bill.”
“My boy Tom in love?” repeated the czar, blankly. “Yes.”
“With whom?”
“I don't know. I'm a neurologist—not a soothsayer.”
“Well, suppose he is in love—what of it?”
“Nothing—to me.”
“Then what is serious about it?”
“I can't tell you, for its seriousness to you depends on your point of view toward society at large. There are, of course, the obvious disquieting circumstances.”