"
"Possibly you are right," Valentine answered lightly. "What a pity it is
that there is no profession of which all the members at least believe in
themselves."
"Ah; would you enter it?"
"I scarcely think it would be necessary."
He glanced first at the doctor, then at Cuckoo as he spoke.
"I am thankful to say," he added in his clear, cool voice, "that I have
no longer either the perpetual timidity of the self-doubter or even the
occasional anxiety of the egoist."
"You have passed into a region which even egoism cannot enter."
"Possibly--the average egoism."
"The average egoism of the end of the century moves in a very rarefied
air."
"Its feet touch ground nevertheless."
"And yours?"
Valentine only laughed, as if he considered the question merely
rhetorical or jocose.
"But we are getting away from the question, which was not personal,"
he said. "I contend that doctors, as a body, are bound to combat these
modern Athenians, who are inclined to attribute everything to some
obscure action of the mind. For, if their beliefs are founded on rock,
and if they can themselves sufficiently, by asceticism, or by following
any other fixed course of life which they may select as the right one,
train their minds to do that which they believe can be done, the
profession of doctors may in time be abolished.
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