"Well then," said Mr. Linden in a sort of confidential tone, "what is your opinion upon the great German question—whether it is better to be One and Somewhat, or to be Nought and All?
"You see,"—said the doctor, standing back and suspending operations,—"everybody can't be One and Somewhat!"
"Then you choose the comprehensive side—" said Mr. Linden. "That is without doubt the most difficult,—the One and Somewhat is called egotistical, but to be Nought and All!—one must be—what do you suppose?"
"A philanthropist, I should suppose!" the doctor answered, with a change of expression not agreeable. And returning to his work, for awhile he behaved unusually like other people; not hurrying his work, but doing it with a grave steady attention to that and nothing else—answering Faith, and saying no more. Perhaps however he thought silence might be carried too far; or else had an unsatisfied mood upon him; for as he was finishing what he had to do, he looked up again to Faith and remarked,
"What do you think of this for our quiet town, Miss Derrick? Has Mr.
Linden any enemies in Pattaquasset—that you know?"
It was merciless in the doctor; for through all this time she had been in a state of confusion—as he knew—that made speech undesirable, though she had spoken. And she didn't answer him now, except by a quickly withdrawn glance.
"Who do you suppose loves him well enough," pursued the doctor, "to send a charge of duck shot into him like that?"
A sudden little cry of pain, driven back before it was well begun, was heard and but just heard, from Faith. The doctor looked up.
"I was afraid this—Are you faint?" he said gently.
"No sir,—" she answered; and she stood still as before, though the overspread colour which had held its ground for a good while past, had given way now and fluttered pain fully. But the doctor's words brought Mr. Linden, for the first time since his accident—to a perfectly erect position on the couch—with a total disregard of where his arm went, or what became of its bandages.