"I do," said the doctor. "Well--?" The lawyer was challenging. In the long run the doctor rubbed him the wrong way. "I hope you make a better job of bandaging Lydia's eyes than you did hers." The Judge had turned toward the house. At this he stopped and made an irritated gesture. "Melton, you are enough to give a logical man brain fever. You're always proclaiming that parents have no real influence over their children's lives--that it's fate, or destiny, or temperament--and now--you blame me because Marietta's discontented over her husband's small income." The doctor looked up quickly, his face twitching. "You think that's the cause of Marietta's discontent? By Heaven, I wish Lydia could go into a convent." Suddenly his many-wrinkled little face set like a mask of tragedy. "Oh, Nat, you know what Lydia's always been to me--like my own--as precious--Oh, take care of her! take care of her! See, Lydia can't fight. She can't, even if she knew what was going on to fight against--" His voice broke. He looked up at his tall friend and shivered. Judge Emery clapped him on the shoulder with a rough friendliness. "No wonder you do miracles in curing women, Marius. You must know their insides. You talk like a mother in a fit of the nerves over a sick child. In the Lord's name, what has Lydia to fight against? If there was ever a creature with a happy, successful life before her-- Besides, don't we all stand ready to do her fighting for her?" Though the night was cool, the doctor took off his hat and wiped his forehead. He looked up once as though he were about to speak, but in the end he only put his hat back on his head, nodded, and went his way, his quick, light, uneven tread waking a faint echo in the empty street. As the Judge let himself in at the front door, a murmur of voices from the brightly-lighted parlor struck gratefully on his ear. He was not too late. "How are you, Hollister?" he called as he pulled off his overcoat. "Glad to see you back. Let's hear all about the Urbana experience." Hollister's dramatic interest in each engagement of his battle for success was infectious. Those who knew him, whether they liked him or not, waited for news of the results of his latest skirmish as they waited for the installments of an exciting serial story. As the older man entered, the tall, quick-moving young fellow came over to the door and shook his hand with energy. The Judge reflected that nobody but Hollister could so convey the effect that he was being made kindly welcome in his own house; but he did not dislike this vigor of personality. He sat down on the chair which his young guest indicated as a suitable one, and rubbed his chin, smiling at his daughter. "Dr. Melton sent his love to you, but he wouldn't come in."