"That's plenty. It could be some little trait in these swains of yours, some unimportant mannerism that recalls that memory. Or there's that portrait of him in the hall--the one under the mellow red light. It might happen that you'd see one of these chaps under a similar light in some attitude that brings the picture to mind--or a hundred other possibilities." "Doesn't sound entirely convincing," objected Pat with a thoughtful frown. "Well, submit to the proper treatments, and I'll tell you exactly what caused each and every one of your little passing fancies. You can't expect me to hit it first guess." "Thanks, no! That's one of these courses where you tell the doctor all your secrets, and I prefer to keep what few I have." "Good judgment, Pat. By the way, you said this chap was odd. Does that mean merely that he writes? I've known perfectly normal people who wrote." "No," she said, "it isn't that. It's--he's so sweet and gentle and manageable most of the time, but sometimes he has such a thrilling spark of mastery that it almost scares me. It's puzzling but fascinating, if you grasp my import." "Huh! He's probably a naturally selfish fellow who's putting on a good show of gentleness for your benefit. Those flashes of tyranny are probably his real character in moment of forgetfulness." "You doctors can explain anything, can't you?" "That's our business. It's what we're paid for." "Well, you're wrong this time. I know Nick well enough to know if he's acting. His personality is just what I said--gentle, sensitive, and yet--It's perplexing, and that's a good part of his charm." "Then it's not such a serious case you've got," mocked the doctor. "When you're cool enough to analyze your own feelings, and dissect the elements of the chap's attraction, you're not in any danger." "Danger! I can look out for myself, thanks. That's one thing we mindless moderns learn young, and don't let me catch you puttering around in my romances! _In loco parentis_ or just plain loco, you'll get the licking instead of me!" "Believe me, Pat, if I wanted to experiment with affairs of the heart, I'd not pick a spit-fire like you as the subject." "Well, Doctor Carl, you're warned!" "This Nick," observed the Doctor, "must be quite a fellow to get the princess of the North Side so het up. What's the rest of his cognomen?" "Nicholas Devine. Romantic, isn't it?" "Devine," muttered Horker. "I don't know any Devines. Who are his people?" "Hasn't any." "How does he live? By his writing?" "Don't know. I gathered that he lives on some income left by his parents. What's the difference, anyway?" "None. None at all." The other wrinkled his brows thoughtfully. "There was a colleague of mine, a Dr. Devine; died a good many years ago. Reputation wasn't anything to brag about; was a little off balance mentally." "Well, Nick isn't!" snapped Pat with some asperity. "I'd like to meet him." "He's coming over tonight."