“Too much honor,” said Layton, haughtily. “Not to say how arduous the task of him who would protect a man against himself; and such I opine to be the assumed object here.” “I 'm sure, if I had as much as suspected how you would have taken my interference,” said the Colonel, more hurt by Layton's tone than by his mere words, “I 'd have spared myself my mission.” “You had no right to have anticipated it, sir. It was very natural for you to augur favorably of any intervention by a colonel,--a C.B., with other glorious distinctions--in regard to a poor dispensary doctor, plodding the world wearily, with a salary less than a butler's. You had only to look down the cliff, and see the humble cottage where he lived, to calculate what amount of resistance could such a man offer to any proposal that promised him bread.” “I must say, I wish you would not mistake me,” broke in Karstairs, with warmth. “I am not stating anything with reference to you, sir; only with respect to those judgments the world at large would pronounce upon _me_.” “Am I to conclude, then,” said the Colonel, rising, and evidently in anger,--“am I to conclude, then, that this is your deliberate act, that you wish to abide by this letter, that you see nothing to recall nor retract in its contents?” Layton bowed an assent “This is too bad--too bad,” muttered the Colonel, as he fumbled for his gloves, and dropped them twice over in his confusion. “I know well enough where the sting lies: you are angry with Ogden; you suspect that he has been meddling. Well, it's no affair of mine; you are the best judge. Not but a little prudence might have shown you that Ogden was a dangerous man to offend,--a very dangerous man; but of course you know best. I have only to ask pardon for obtruding my advice unasked, a stupid act always, but I 'm right sorry for it.” “I am very grateful for the intention, sir,” said Layton, with dignity. “That 's all I can claim,” muttered the Colonel, whose confusion increased every moment. “It was a fool's errand, and ends as it ought. Good-bye!” Layton arose and opened the door with a respectful air. Karstairs offered his hand, and, as he grasped the other's warmly, said, “I wish you would let me talk this over with your wife, Layton.” The doctor drew haughtily back, and, with a cold stare of astonishment, said: “I have addressed you by your title, sir; _I_ have mine. At all events, there is nothing in your station nor in my own to warrant this familiarity.” “You are quite right,--perfectly right,--and I ask pardon.” It was a liberty never to be repeated, and the bronzed weatherbeaten face of the old soldier became crimson with shame as he bowed deeply and passed out.