"That perhaps there ought to be another opinion?" Gallagher looked at him complacently. "Well, maybe you're right. 'Tisn't because I condemn him that he shouldn't appeal to a higher court."
Milbanke started.
"Then you think poorly of his chances?"
Gallagher shook his head expressively.
"You despair of him?"
A pang of unexpected grief touched Milbanke. He realised suddenly how distant, vague, and yet how real a part the ideal of his youth had played in his life and thoughts; how deep a niche, unknown to them both, Asshlin had carved for himself. With a sense of loss altogether disproportionate to circumstances, he turned again to the doctor.
"Yes, I should like another opinion," he said quickly. "The best we can get—the best in Ireland. We can't get a man from town sooner than to-morrow, and time is everything. I suppose Dublin is the place to wire to? Not that I am disparaging you," he added. "I feel confident you have done everything."
Gallagher smiled.
"Oh, I'm not taking offence. It's only human nature to think what you do. I'll meet any one you like to name. But he'll say the same as me."
"And that is?"