He frowned and cast a glance
that was almost threatening upon the doctor.
"Would you assume weakness in every strong man who refuses to take off
his coat, roll up his shirt sleeve and display the muscle of his arm?"
he said, harshly.
"The case is not analogous. That muscle exists in the world is a proved
fact. When I was at Eton, I was knocked down by a boy stronger than I
was. Since then I acknowledge the power of muscle."
"And have you never been knocked down mentally?"
"Not in the way you suggest."
Valentine shifted in his seat. It did not escape the doctor that he
had the air of a man longing to either say or do something startling,
but apparently held back by tugging considerations of prudence or of
expediency.
"Some day you may be," he said at last, obviously conquered by this
prompting prudence.
"When I am, the 'Christian scientist' who once declared to me that she
cured a sprained ankle by walking on it many miles a day, and thinking
it was well while she walked, shall receive my respectful apologies,"
the doctor answered, laughing.
Valentine handed the lady of the feathers some strawberries. On her
nervous refusal of them he exclaimed:
"I see you have finished your wine, doctor.
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