"Mr. Linden," said the doctor, "you come next—and you are mine. What shall I do with you?"
"Why—anything," said Mr. Linden.
"Well—I am greatly at a loss what you are good for," said the doctor lightly,—"but on the whole I order you to preach a sermon to the company."
"Have you any choice as to the text?"
"I am not in the way of those things," said the doctor laughingly.
"Give us the lesson you think we want most."
The clear, grave look that met him—Dr. Harrison had seen it before. The change was like the parting of a little bright vapour, revealing the steadfast blue beneath.
"Nay doctor, you must bid me do something else! I dare not play at marbles with precious stones."
There was probably a mixture of things in the doctor's mind;—but the outward show in answer to this was in the highest degree seemly and becoming. The expression of Dr. Harrison's face changed; with a look gentle and kind, even winning, he came up to Mr. Linden's side and took his hand.
"You are right!" said he, "and I have got my sermon—which I deserve. But now, Linden, that is not your forfeit;—for that you must tell me—honestly—what you think of me." There was always a general air of carelessness about Dr. Harrison, as to what he said himself or what others said in his presence. Along with this carelessness, which whether seeming or real was almost invariable, there mingled now a friend's look and tone and something of a friend's apology making.
"But do you want me to tell everybody else?" said Mr. Linden, smiling in his old way at the doctor. "Do you like to blush before so many people?"