"No, he has never mentioned the subject to me."
"Well, I did," and then the young man proceeded to relate the incident that had occurred on the Ivernia during his return passage and his subsequent conversation with his brother-in-law.
"While I have no faith in it as a 'demonstrable science,'" he continued, "and while there is much that, to me, seems absurdly inconsistent in what they teach, I am not so egotistical and obstinate as to utterly repudiate, with a supercilious wave of the hand, any method of healing that could do what I know was done for that suffering child last fall. And, my dear sister, I am sure I do not need to tell you that I would be willing to yield everything—go to any legitimate length to save our Dorrie from a trying ordeal, which, after all, might not bring the result we hope for. It is a question that remains to be proved, you know," he concluded, gently.
"Do not think for a moment," he presently resumed, "that I believe Christian Science could cure her; at the same time I would not object to giving it a trial—making a test—to see if it would relieve her present suffering."
"Why not test it upon yourself, Phil?" his sister abruptly demanded.
The man started, then flushed.
"You refer to my imperfect sight?"
"Yes, of course; you need it for nothing else."
"Pshaw! Emelie; there is nothing that can mend a dislocated optic nerve," returned the physician, with an impatient shrug.
They walked on some distance farther, both intent upon the subject which they had been discussing.