"It will be your fault if you don't. It will prove that you're fonder of sickness than health, and that you're not fit company for sensible mortals. Shall I tell you?" continued the Doctor, after a moment's hesitation. "When I knew you in the army, I always found you a step beyond my comprehension. You took things too hard. You had scruples and doubts about everything. And on top of it all you were devoured with the mania of appearing to take things easily and to be perfectly indifferent. You played your part very well, but you must do me the justice to confess that it _was_ a part." "I hardly know whether that's a compliment or an impertinence. I hope, at least, that you don't mean to accuse me of playing a part at the present moment." "On the contrary. I'm your physician; you're frank." "It's not because you're my physician that I'm frank," said Mason. "I shouldn't think of burdening you in that capacity with my miserable caprices and fancies;" and Ferdinand paused a moment. "You're a man!" he pursued, laying his hand on his companion's arm. "There's nothing here but women, Heaven reward them! I'm saturated with whispers and perfumes and smiles, and the rustling of dresses. It takes a man to understand a man." "It takes more than a man to understand you, my dear Mason," said Knight, with a kindly smile. "But I listen." Mason remained silent, leaning back in his chair, with his eyes wandering slowly over the wide patch of sky disclosed by the window, and his hands languidly folded on his knees. The Doctor examined him with a look half amused, half perplexed. But at last his face grew quite sober, and he contracted his brow. He placed his hand on Mason's arm and shook it gently, while Ferdinand met his gaze. The Doctor frowned, and, as he did so, his companion's mouth expanded into a placid smile. "If you don't get well," said Knight,--"if you don't get well--" and he paused. "What will be the consequences?" asked Ferdinand, still smiling. "I shall hate you," said Knight, half smiling, too. Mason broke into a laugh. "What shall I care for that?" "I shall tell people that you were a poor, spiritless fellow,--that you are no loss." "I give you leave," said Ferdinand. The Doctor got up. "I don't like obstinate patients," he said. Ferdinand burst into a long, loud laugh, which ended in a fit of coughing. "I'm getting too amusing," said Knight; "I must go."