"This business of love is the devil's own invention!" he cried. "It's safer and saner to like and respect people than to love them, and lots harder. Now, what do you say to marrying me?"
"I say you had no such notion in your head the last time you and I talked together. When did it seize you?" I demanded, suspiciously.
"I began to think about it seriously—er—ah—some days ago," he said, reddening.
"What day, to be exact?"
"Well," said he, resentfully, "it occurred to me last Wednesday, if you want to be so all-fired sure!"
"What happened last Wednesday to make you think of asking me to marry you?"
The doctor looked at me very much as a little boy looks at a grown-up who is holding a soapy wash-cloth in one hand and an ear in the other.
"What do you want to know for?"
"Because. I just want to know because. Well?" He squirmed, and was silent. "Was it because you have ceased to care for Alicia, already?" His glare answered that question. "No? Why, then, didn't you ask Alicia, instead of coming to me for second choice? Look here, Doctor Richard Geddes: if I was not firmly and truly your friend, I should be furious, do you understand? Or," I added, darkly, "I might even revenge myself by taking you at your word!"
"Sophronisba Two!" The doctor looked at, me piteously.