"When are these letters to be written?"
"To-day—this morning."
"Dick"—the doctor laid a persuasive hand upon his arm—"you don't understand what it is you are doing. Wait till this evening. Give me, say, eight—ten hours. Let me beg you to wait till this evening. If I can effect nothing in twelve hours—with the principals—the two—the three principals concerned—you shall then do as you please."
"Well, if I must—— If you really think—— Well, I will wait; but I will have no compromise. I could forgive him anything—his insolence and his contempt, but not——"
"Love has many shapes, my Richard. He may become a soldier—but a hangman, an executioner, he who brandishes the cat-o'-nine-tails—no, Dick, no—that rôle does not suit Love. Stay thy hand——"
Dick turned away. "Take your twelve hours."
"I am going, then, at once—to Lady Woodroffe."