Dr. Mulbridge colored. “Excuse me,” he said, “if, even under the circumstances, I can’t agree with you that the position taken by the regular practice is ridiculous.”
She did not make any direct reply. “But I supposed that you only made this distinction, as you call it, in cases where there is no immediate danger; that in a matter of life and death you would waive it. Mrs. Maynard is really—”
“There are no conditions under which I could not conscientiously refuse to waive it.”
“Then,” cried Grace, “I withdraw the word! It is not ridiculous. It is monstrous, atrocious, inhuman!”
A light of humorous irony glimmered in Dr. Mulbridge’s eye. “I must submit to your condemnation.”
“Oh, it isn’t a personal condemnation!” she retorted. “I have no doubt that personally you are not responsible. We can lay aside our distinctions as allopathist and homœopathist, and you can advise with me”—
“It’s quite impossible,” said Dr. Mulbridge. “If I advised with you, I might be—A little while ago one of our school in Connecticut was expelled from the State Medical Association for consulting with”—he began to hesitate, as if he had not hit upon a fortunate or appropriate illustration, but he pushed on—“with his own wife, who was a physician of your school.”
She haughtily ignored his embarrassment. “I can appreciate your difficulty, and pity any liberal-minded person who is placed as you are, and disapproves of such wretched bigotry.”
“I am obliged to tell you,” said Dr. Mulbridge, “that I don’t disapprove of it.”
“I am detaining you,” said Grace. “I beg your pardon. I was curious to know how far superstition and persecution can go in our day.” If the epithets were not very accurate, she used them with a woman’s effectiveness, and her intention made them descriptive. “Good-day,” she added, and she made a movement toward the door, from which Dr. Mulbridge retired. But she did not open the door. Instead, she sank into the chair which stood in the corner, and passed her hand over her forehead, as if she were giddy.