"I do not say that," replied the other, shrugging his shoulders; "but it will be time enough for me to give a professional opinion when you ask for one in a professional way. I'm running down to Bournemouth for a holiday, but I shall be at home next Tuesday. Come and see me. I'll look you over, and answer that question to the best of my ability."
"I'll come," said Mark.
"Afternoon or morning?" asked the surgeon, whipping out a pencil. "Book your hour!"
"Will three suit you, Mr. Barger?" The surgeon's pencil scratched upon the paper. Mark added: "I shall be punctual."
CHAPTER XIV
A MORAL EXIGENCY
Archibald met his brother at Westchester Station, and drove him towards Birr Wood as the shadows lay long and cool upon the white road. A sweet stillness hung over the ancient capital—the stillness which in springtime is eloquent of strife. Everywhere the sap was forcing its way upward; buds were swelling, leaves were bursting from their bonds. And an ethereal mildness permeated the atmosphere, suffusing in golden haze the setting sun.
"Pull up," said Mark.
"Eh?"
"I should like to read you my sermon here and now, within sight of the cathedral. We can walk across the downs afterwards, and arrive in plenty of time to dress for dinner."