"Pendleton, I want to see that child. I want to make an
examination. I MUST make an examination."
"Well--can't you?"
"CAN'T I! Pendleton, you know very well I haven't been inside
that door for more than fifteen years. You don't know--but I will
tell you--that the mistress of that house told me that the NEXT
time she ASKED me to enter it, I might take it that she was
begging my pardon, and that all would be as before--which meant
that she'd marry me. Perhaps you see her summoning me now--but I
don't!"
"But couldn't you go--without a summons?"
The doctor frowned.
"Well, hardly. _I_ have some pride, you know."
"But if you're so anxious--couldn't you swallow your pride and
forget the quarrel--"
"Forget the quarrel!" interrupted the doctor, savagely. "I'm not
talking of that kind of pride. So far as THAT is concerned, I'd
go from here there on my knees--or on my head--if that would do
any good. It's PROFESSIONAL pride I'm talking about. It's a case
of sickness, and I'm a doctor. I can't butt in and say, 'Here,
take me!'can I?"
"Chilton, what was the quarrel?" demanded Pendleton.
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