Mrs. Burns could never quite forgive herself for leaving so early that night, and almost lost her religion, because no still small voice prompted her to stay. Just as she left the office, the young man, the mysterious stranger, came to the door, and Mrs. Burns knew there was no use going back through the drug store and listening at the door. The doctor had heavy curtains at each door in his office, and had a way of leaving the key in the door, that cut off the last hope. So she went home in great heaviness of spirit.
P.J. Neelands presented his card, and was given a leather chair beside the fire. He asked the doctor if he might smoke, and was given permission.
"I am going to talk to you in confidence, Doctor Clay," he said, nervously. "I guess you're used to that."
The doctor nodded encouragingly: "That's what doctors are for. Go right on, Mr. Neelands."
"The fact of the matter is—I'm in love," said Peter, taking the head plunge first.
"O that's nothing," said the doctor. "I mean—that's nothing to worry about."
"But she does not care a hang for me. In fact, she laughs at me."
Peter's face was clouded in perplexity.
"But I'll begin at the beginning: I belong to the Young Men's Political Club in the city, and I was sent out here—at least, I mean I asked to come on a delicate mission. I'm speaking to you confidentially, of course."
"Of course," said the doctor, "have no fears."