"How came you to know them?" said she.
"I read them amongst his poems," was his answer.
"I thought you were a surgeon, Mr. Samuel Watson," said she still in amazement, "and though never doubting that you knew a great deal of anatomy and such things, did not expect you would be acquainted with love poetry."
"And is it to want of taste or want of time, Miss Millar, that you would attribute my imaginary ignorance?"
"I do not wish to offend you, but certainly I had expected a surgeon's tastes to be different; and I should have referred a case of dislocation or fracture to you, with much more faith than a failure of memory."
"You thought I could mend your finger better than a broken verse, and that though I might make you whole, I should make a line halt—was that it?"
"I believe it was, and my amazement is so great, I do not know when I shall recover," replied she saucily.
"I know you always had a strong prejudice against the medical profession," said Mr. Bridge smiling, "you considered one specimen the type of the whole class."
"I am delighted to hear it," exclaimed Sam, "I like of all things to meet with prejudiced people, one has such a pleasure in disputing with them; good, strong prejudices are delightful things, they are so constantly changing their color and complexion; for I have often observed a strong dislike converted into a decided approbation, whilst the owner is unaware of the change, and gravely assures you he never alters his mind."
"That must be a man's prejudice, Mr. Watson," said Annie, "women are much more consistent. I have hated doctors, surgeons and apothecaries ever since I was five years old, and Mr. Morgan gave me some bon-bons which made me sick. I have always distrusted them since that."