"What a clever fellow he is!" thought Mason. "There he stands, rattling off musical terms as if he had never thought of anything else. And yet, when he talks medicine, it's impossible to talk more to the point." Mason continued to be very well satisfied with Knight's intelligence of his case, and with his treatment of it. He had been in the country now for three weeks, and he would hesitate, indeed, to affirm that he felt materially better; but he felt more comfortable. There were moments when he feared to push the inquiry as to his real improvement, because he had a sickening apprehension that he would discover that in one or two important particulars he was worse. In the course of time he imparted these fears to his physician. "But I may be mistaken," he added, "and for this reason. During the last fortnight I have become much more sensible of my condition than while I was in town. I then accepted each additional symptom as a matter of course. The more the better, I thought. But now I expect them to give an account of themselves. Now I have a positive wish to recover." Dr. Knight looked at his patient for a moment curiously. "You are right," he said; "a little impatience is a very good thing." "O, I'm not impatient. I'm patient to a most ridiculous extent. I allow myself a good six months, at the very least." "That is certainly not unreasonable," said Knight. "And will you allow me a question? Do you intend to spend those six months in this place?" "I'm unable to answer you. I suppose I shall finish the summer here, unless the summer finishes me. Mrs. Mason will hear of nothing else. In September I hope to be well enough to go back to town, even if I'm not well enough to think of work. What do you advise?" "I advise you to put away all thoughts of work. That is imperative. Haven't you been at work all your life long? Can't you spare a pitiful little twelve-month to health and idleness and pleasure?" "Ah, pleasure, pleasure!" said Mason, ironically. "Yes, pleasure," said the Doctor. "What has she done to you that you should speak of her in that manner?" "O, she bothers me," said Mason. "You are very fastidious. It's better to be bothered by pleasure than by pain." "I don't deny it. But there is a way of being indifferent to pain. I don't mean to say that I have found it out, but in the course of my illness I have caught a glimpse of it. But it's beyond my strength to be indifferent to pleasure. In two words, I'm afraid of dying of kindness." "O, nonsense!" "Yes, it's nonsense; and yet it's not. There would be nothing miraculous in my not getting well."