"You said you had something to tell me." "On second thought I’ll postpone it." "Why?" "The moonlight suggests mystery. Let’s leave it a mystery." "I hate mysteries." "As I diagnose your case, you’re by way of ’hating’ most things, nowadays. Come. Confess. Aren’t you?" Katherine nodded mutely. "Don’t do it," advised Dr. Ballard. "I can’t help it," she burst out with quite uncharacteristic impetuosity. "So much in life is hateful. Sometimes, I feel one isn’t bound to endure things, when they make one so detestable. I was thinking about it just before you came. Thinking about the sort of thing life can make of one. Everything one oughtn’t to be. I hate _myself_, along with all the rest." Dr. Ballard sat with his hands clasped around his knees, and gazed straight up above him into the great stretch of dusky sky, spangled over with constellations. "I wonder what Mrs. Slawson would say to that?" he ruminated. Katherine started. "Mrs. Slawson?" "Yes. I’ve made it out that she’s rather a specialist, when it comes to life, and that sort of thing. Really, I think it might pay you to consult her. By the way, she asked me to say that you ’can heave the perserve trouble off’n your chest.’ She is going to see you get a ’rule,’ or something." "Oh, good! That _is_ a load off one’s mind. And, speaking of chests, it can’t be very good for yours, to be doing heavy gymnastics, such as climbing porch-posts. Can it?" "Why not? My chest’s O.K. Nothing in the least ’s the matter with my chest." "Oh,—I thought——" blundered Katherine awkwardly. "What?" "Somebody told me—I don’t recollect who—that you had a ’spot’ or something, on your lung. I’m so sorry." Dr. Ballard flung back his head with a low, boyish chuckle. "Somebody’s got hold of the wrong case. My nerves, mixed with another chap’s bellows. No, I’m not up here on account of any one _spot_—it’s the whole rundown machine that needs repairing. I’m used up. Tired out." "Tired out—waiting for patients?" asked Katherine mischievously. Dr. Ballard gave her a quick look. "That’s it. Waiting for patients," he quoted with perfect good humor. "I suppose it’s hard work building up a practice in a city as big as Boston." "Quite hard work." "Don’t you get discouraged?" "Why should I?" "Oh, there must be so many obstacles, hindrances. Even if you are clever, there must be so many older men with established reputations. Great physicians, great surgeons." "Precisely. That’s the fun of it. The game wouldn’t be worth playing, if ’twas easy to win out. It’s hard. That’s why I like it." Katherine rose slowly, and stood in the window embrasure, looking down upon him thoughtfully. "You’ve given me something to sleep on," she said. "I’ll remember what you’ve said. ’The game wouldn’t be worth playing, if ’twas easy.’ And I have been whining because it is hard." "Katherine!" shrilled a petulant voice, breaking rudely through the soft evening hush. "Coming, grandmother."