“He’s got a good many things besides that!” retorted the doctor dryly, adjusting his glasses as he started to write directions on three sets of envelopes. “You seem to take his affairs to heart. Got any special interest in the boy, Hadley?”
Herford was silent for a moment. In his large and more judicial aspect he seemed to be weighing an important question, and his eyes dwelt moodily on the fire. The doctor, without apparently observing him, finished his hieroglyphics, put back his little glass bottles, and closed his case with a snap. As he did it, he heard the judge’s voice in an unwonted key.
“The truth is he’s taken me into his confidence—not a word of this to Diane, Sam—and I know he wants to marry my daughter. I’ll admit that at first it was rather a shock. I’m selfish enough to want to keep her; but gradually I’ve reconciled my mind. I suppose it’s inevitable. Besides, if anything happened to me, she’d be alone, and—well, I haven’t any objection. I’ve been considering, instead, some way to keep him out of that infernal south pole business.”
“Does Diane know?”
“That he’s in love with her? I suppose she does; girls do, as a rule, I think. But he hasn’t spoken to her yet—I know that—and I’ve held my tongue about it. He made me promise.”
The doctor whistled softly. His patient turned a suspicious eye on him.
“What’s your objection?” the judge asked.
“Why don’t you ask Diane if she has any? She’s the important person.”
“I think she likes him.”
The doctor laughed dryly.