Bervie dwelt on the words with alarm in his face as well as surprise.
“A man like me, trying to persuade a woman like—” he checked himself, as if he was afraid to let Charlotte’s name pass his lips. “Trying to induce a woman to go away with me,” he resumed, “and persuading her at last? Pray, go on! What did the Doctor see next?”
“He was too much exhausted, he said, to see any more.”
“Surely you returned to consult him again?”
“No; I had had enough of it.”
“When we get to London,” said the Captain, “we shall pass along the Strand, on the way to your chambers. Will you kindly drop me at the turning that leads to the Doctor’s lodgings?”
Percy looked at him in amazement. “You still take it seriously?” he said.
“Is it not serious?” Bervie asked. “Have you and I, so far, not done exactly what this man saw us doing? Did we not meet, in the days when we were rivals (as he saw us meet), with the pistols in our hands? Did you not recognize his description of the lady when you met her at the ball, as I recognized it before you?”
“Mere coincidences!” Percy answered, quoting Charlotte’s opinion when they had spoken together of Doctor Lagarde, but taking care not to cite his authority. “How many thousand men have been crossed in love? How many thousand men have fought duels for love? How many thousand women choose blue for their favorite color, and answer to the vague description of the lady whom the Doctor pretended to see?”
“Say that it is so,” Bervie rejoined. “The thing is remarkable, even from your point of view. And if more coincidences follow, the result will be more remarkable still.”