Carl’s face was scarlet, but he answered bravely; “No, it isn’t.”
The Doctor continued. “Some day, in all likelihood, a little girl-child will climb upon your knee and call you papa. No creature can ever be to you what that little daughter will be. If any one should injure her–––.”
“I’d kill him,” broke in Carl hotly.
“If you feel that way, dear boy, you should remember that every girl is some one’s daughter, perhaps some one’s sister, will probably be some one’s 20 wife and some one’s mother, so that all girls should be sacred to you, treated with chivalrous courtesy and protected even as you feel you would protect those who may belong especially to you.”
“But don’t you believe in boys and girls being friends at all?”
“Most assuredly I do. Nothing is more charming than the frank comradeship of girls and boys, and that is why I am so sorry to see them spoil it with sentimentality. They ought to be good friends, helping each other, having jolly good times together, but never in ways that will bring a blush to the cheeks of either, now, or in the years to come.”
A rap sounded on the door and the maid entered with a note which she gave to the doctor, who handed it to Carl, saying, “Here is the note for Miss Bell. I have kept you waiting a long time, but I hope it has not been unprofitable.”
“Indeed it has not. I am ever so much obliged to you, I am sure.”
“And if you ever wish to talk to me again you will feel free to come, will you not?”
“Yes, ma’am, I surely will,” answered the lad with a frank clasp of the hand.