The Best Friend took a scathing glance at the scribbled words on the paper and laughed mirthlessly.
"You're a good fool," he said, "a good fool, and I'll publish your blessed lie to the whole stupid village, if that's what you want."
But the Young Doctor sat oblivious with his head in his hands, muttering: "Blind fool, blind fool, how could I have been such a blind fool?"
"What is it to you?" asked his Best Friend abruptly.
The Young Doctor jumped to his feet and squared his shoulders.
"It's this to me," he cried, "that I wanted her for my own! I could have cured her. I tell you I could have cured her. I wanted her for my own!"
"She's only a waif," said the Best Friend tersely.
"Waif?" cried the Young Doctor, "waif? No woman whom I love is a waif!" His face blazed furiously. "The woman I love—that little gentle girl—a waif?—without a home?—I would make a cool home for her out of Hell itself, if it was necessary! Damn, damn, damn the brute that deserted her, but home is all around her now! Do I think the Old Doctor guessed about it? N-o! Nobody could have guessed about it. Nobody could have known about it much before this. You say again she isn't anybody's? I'll prove to you as soon as it's decent that she's mine."
His Best Friend took him by the shoulder and shook him roughly.
"It is no time," he said, "for you to be courting a woman."