"He has dark hair?"
"It may have been so, it is prematurely gray."
Doctor Trubie looked a little discomfited. "Give me a sketch of his character," said he.
Bergan hesitated. It was a difficult thing to do, on the instant. His impressions of Doctor Remy's character had varied, as he remembered.
"On second thought," said Doctor Trubie, "I will give you one. All of him, that is not intellect, is ice. In religious matters, he is an utter sceptic. Socially, he is brilliant; but he has no intimate friends, and he makes no confidants. Men and women, to him, are subjects of study, not objects of affection. He cares for nothing but himself and his profession. And no one cares for him—much. They may admire, but they cannot love."
Bergan looked considerably startled. "Your sketch tallies well with some impressions of mine, which I did my best to rid myself of," said he. "But Doctor Remy has befriended me, from the first, and you yourself say that he has been largely the means of saving my mother's life."
"He has had his own reasons for both; Edmund Roath never did anything without a reason, and a selfish one. Has he anything to gain by keeping you out of the way?"
"Nothing, that I can imagine."
"When do you return to Berganton?"
"Mother has consented that I shall start on Monday, if she is no worse."