The office was located in a cheap quarter. It was a dingy place, not encumbered with works of art, but with a few books covered with dust. The doctor himself was stout and greasy, and he rubbed his hands with anticipation at the sight of so prosperous-looking a patient. But he was evidently a man of experience, for he knew exactly what was the matter with George, almost without the formality of an examination. Yes, he could cure him, quickly, he said. There had recently been great discoveries made--new methods which had not reached the bulk of the profession. He laughed at the idea of three or four years. That was the way with those specialists! When one got forty francs for a consultation, naturally, one was glad to drag out the case. There were tricks in the medical trade, as in all others. A doctor had to live; when he had a big name, he had to live expensively. The new physician wrote out two prescriptions, and patted George on the shoulder as he went away. There was no need for him to worry; he would surely be well in three months. If he would put off his marriage for six months, he would be doing everything within reason. And meantime, there was no need for him to worry himself--things would come out all right. So George went away, feeling as if a mountain had been lifted from his shoulders. He went to see Henriette that same evening, to get the matter settled. “Henriette,” he said, “I have to tell you something very important--something rather painful. I hope you won’t let it disturb you too much.” She was gazing at him in alarm. “What is it?” “Why,” he said, blushing in spite of himself, and regretting that he had begun the matter so precipitately, “for some time I’ve not been feeling quite well. I’ve been having a slight cough. Have you noticed it?” “Why no!” exclaimed Henriette, anxiously. “Well, today I went to see a doctor, and he says that there is a possibility--you understand it is nothing very serious--but it might be--I might possibly have lung trouble.” “George!” cried the girl in horror. He put his hand upon hers. “Don’t be frightened,” he said. “It will be all right, only I have to take care of myself.” How very dear of her, he thought--to be so much worried! “George, you ought to go away to the country!” she cried. “You have been working too hard. I always told you that if you shut yourself up so much--” “I am going to take care of myself,” he said. “I realize that it is necessary. I shall be all right--the doctor assured me there was no doubt of it, so you are not to distress yourself. But meantime, here is the trouble: I don’t think it would be right for me to marry until I am perfectly well.” Henriette gave an exclamation of dismay. “I am sure we should put it off,” he went on, “it would be only fair to you.” “But, George!” she protested. “Surely it can’t be that serious!” “We ought to wait,” he said. “You ought not to take the chance of being married to a consumptive.”