[Sits down and takes some fish.] Fascinating? Well, goodness knows, I couldn't see that at all. [Seriously.] Has it never struck you, Aline, that elderly Norwegians are so deucedly impressionable—mere bundles of overstrained nerves, hypersensitive ganglia. Except, of course, the Medical Profession.
Mrs. Herdal.
Yes, of course; those in that profession are not so inclined to gangle. And when one has succeeded by such a stroke of luck as you have——
Dr. Herdal.
[Drinks a glass of punch.] You're right enough there. If I had not been called in to prescribe for Dr. Ryval, who used to have the leading practice here, I should never have stepped so wonderfully into his shoes as I did. [Changes to a tone of quiet chuckling merriment.] Let me tell you a funny story, Aline; it sounds a ludicrous thing—but all my good fortune here was based upon a simple little pill. For if Dr. Ryval had never taken it——
Mrs. Herdal.
[Anxiously.] Then you do think it was the pill that caused him to——?
Dr. Herdal.
On the contrary; I am perfectly sure the pill had nothing whatever to do with it—the inquest made it quite clear that it was really the liniment. But don't you see, Aline, what tortures me night and day is the thought that it might unconsciously have been the pill which—— Never to be free from that! To have such a thought gnawing and burning always—always, like a moral mustard plaster!
[He takes more punch.