"It wouldn't be the first, and it couldn't be the second, so it must be the third.--Don't do it, Pendleton! A doctor is the most awful habit a well man can acquire--he never gets over it." "Go to!" laughed Pendleton; "you're not in the fashion. It is the fad now-a-days to be treated by a specialist." "A woman's fad, not a man's," said Burgoyne. "It _isn't_ the stock-market, is it?" "I'm not on the wrong side, if that is what you mean." "And it couldn't by any chance be a woman?" "It could but it isn't.--I reckon I'm just naturally cynical." "Get over it, Pendleton, get over it--it's an awful habit for yourself and those around you! Be cheerful, old man, be cheerful. It's just as easy and a whole heap more enjoyable. Look at me--why, I can----" "Enjoy the prospect of dining with Mrs. Emerson! that is sufficient." "Sufficient unto the mother is the daughter thereof. There are always compensations, if we only let ourselves see them." "What if the daughter isn't there?" Pendleton suggested. "That would be a calamity," Burgoyne answered. "However, we'll hope for the best." "Are you thinking of entering the lists?" "Go to, again! I said I'm interested for our friend!" "How?" "To see if Miss Emerson is worthy of the distinguished honor in store for her." "What earthly good will your 'seeing' do, if you don't tell Devereux what you think?" "None in the world, my friend!--It's pure----" "Curiosity," Pendleton interjected. "I thought that you had overcome your early affliction by travel." "Which is worse--curiosity or a grouch?" laughed Burgoyne. "Neither is worse--they both are reprehensible and to be avoided. I'll make you a proposition--I'll get rid of my cynicism, pessimism or grouch, if you will get rid of your curiosity, or interest in the affairs of others, as you term it. Is it a bargain?" "It is!--but we'll have to go to the Emerson dinner!" Burgoyne stipulated. Again silence. Presently Burgoyne spoke--a trifle low. "I see Harry Lorraine is here--how does he take it?" "You mean the loss of his wife? Like a ninny. He has backed and filled until he has lost all sympathy. One day he thinks he will, the next day he thinks he won't. Either he should have got a gun and chased Amherst to the ends of the earth and shot the life out of him, or he should instantly have filed his suit for divorce. To my mind, he has only one course open now--to take her back and let by-gones be by-gones--if _she_ will take him."