“Don’t!” she whispered almost fiercely, “don’t do that, Dr. Atwood!  I want him, please!  I—­you helped me to discover him, you see.  And his malady is to be my specialty.  Please, do you mind if I keep him all to myself and study him?”

“But you refused, child.”

“I didn’t mean to.  I—­I didn’t exactly see how I was to study him.  But I must study him!  Oh, I must!  There will surely be some way.  Please let me.  You discovered him, I admit, but I will promise you faithfully to devote my entire life to studying him, as the great Lamour devoted his life for forty years to his single patient.”

“But Dr. Lamour married his patient,” said the Tracer mildly.

“He—­I—­that need not be necessary—­”

“But if it should prove necessary?”

“I—­you—­”

“Answer me, child.”

She stared across at Carden, biting her red lips.  He turned pink promptly and fidgeted.

“He has got it!” she whispered excitedly.  “Oh, do you mind if I take him for mine?  I am perfectly wild to begin on him!”

“You have not yet answered my question,” said the old gentleman gravely.  “Do you lack the courage to marry him if it becomes necessary to do so in order to devote your entire life to studying him?”

“Oh—­it cannot be necessary—­”

“You lack the courage.”

She was silent.

“Braver things have been done by those of your profession who have gone among lepers,” said the old gentleman sadly.

She flushed up instantly; her eyes sparkled; her head proudly high, delicate nostrils dilated.

“I am not afraid!” she said.  “If it ever becomes necessary, I can show courage and devotion, as well as those of my profession who minister to the lepers of Molokai!  Yes; I do promise you to marry him if I cannot otherwise study him.  And I promise you solemnly to devote my entire life to observing his symptoms and searching for proper means to combat them.  My one ambition in life is personally to observe and study a case of Lamour’s Disease, and to give my entire life to investigating its origin, its course, and its cure.”

The old gentleman rose, bowing with that quaintly obsolete courtesy which was in vogue in his youth.

“I am contented to leave him exclusively to you, Dr. Hollis.  And I wish you happiness in your life’s work—­and success in your cure of this unhappy young man.”

Hat in hand, he bowed again as he tottered past her, muttering and smiling to himself and shaking his trembling head as he went rocking on unsteady legs out into the sunshine, where the nursemaids and children flocked along the lake shore throwing peanuts to the waterfowl and satiated goldfish.

Dr. Hollis looked after him, her small hand buried among the pages of her open book.  Carden viewed his disappearing figure with guileless emotions.  He was vaguely aware that something important was about to happen to him.  And it did before he was prepared.