I had to agree.
One late summer day when the tests were running smoothly he said to me, "John, I think you should take Pat out of here for a month. There's no point in isolation now we are all recovered, and you need a rest."
"What about you?" I said.
"I'll take a break after you get back. Besides, I want you to do a little experimenting on your vacation."
I wondered out loud what was coming next.
"Well," he smirked, "this is a good chance for a honeymoon and you might find out for me how permanent the sterility effects of the original FS-flu are."
I couldn't think of a more pleasant experiment.
The United Church ceremony was a quiet one. Both Pat and I felt that, having been married before and having subsequently made fools of ourselves, we didn't want much fuss this time. The ceremony was quiet but the party that followed certainly was not. Dr. Hallam had recently moved into a penthouse apartment in the swanky new Lion Heights district overlooking Howe Sound and the Straits of Georgia. From the church it was a quick run out to his home, followed all the way by the hooting automobiles of half the Laboratory staff and a good crowd from the Hospital itself.
From the corner living room of the apartment there was a magnificent view south to Point Grey and the University. Off to the southwest, in the haze of late afternoon, the Olympic mountains glimmered faintly across the water and the dark silhouette of the Island cut the western horizon. To escape for a moment from the uproar, I had moved out onto the rooftop garden and, with my arm around Pat, watched the slow ending of the day. Behind us the french doors opened as Hallam joined us. The buzz of talk and laughter, heightened by the cocktails, broke the quiet of our thoughts and died again as he closed the doors behind him.