“I had always supposed—­that is, I’ve always heard—­that it was more healthful to talk at meals,” said Theron.  “Of course—­what I mean—­I took it for granted all physicians thought so.”

Dr. Ledsmar laughed.  “That depends so much upon the quality of the meals!” he remarked, holding his glass up to the light.

He seemed a man of middle age and an equable disposition.  Theron, stealing stray glances at him around the lampshade, saw most distinctly of all a broad, impressive dome of skull, which, though obviously the result of baldness, gave the effect of quite belonging to the face.  There were gold-rimmed spectacles, through which shone now and again the vivid sparkle of sharp, alert eyes, and there was a nose of some sort not easy to classify, at once long and thick.  The rest was thin hair and short round beard, mouse-colored where the light caught them, but losing their outlines in the shadows of the background.  Theron had not heard of him among the physicians of Octavius.  He wondered if he might not be a doctor of something else than medicine, and decided upon venturing the question.

“Oh, yes, it is medicine,” replied Ledsmar.  “I am a doctor three or four times over, so far as parchments can make one.  In some other respects, though, I should think I am probably less of a doctor than anybody else now living.  I haven’t practised—­that is, regularly—­for many years, and I take no interest whatever in keeping abreast of what the profession regards as its progress.  I know nothing beyond what was being taught in the sixties, and that I am glad to say I have mostly forgotten.”

“Dear me!” said Theron.  “I had always supposed that Science was the most engrossing of pursuits—­that once a man took it up he never left it.”

“But that would imply a connection between Science and Medicine!” commented the doctor.  “My dear sir, they are not even on speaking terms.”

“Shall we go upstairs?” put in the priest, rising from his chair.  “It will be more comfortable to have our coffee there—­unless indeed, Mr. Ware, tobacco is unpleasant to you?”

“Oh, my, no!” the young minister exclaimed, eager to free himself from the suggestion of being a kill-joy.  “I don’t smoke myself; but I am very fond of the odor, I assure you.”

Father Forbes led the way out.  It could be seen now that he wore a long house-gown of black silk, skilfully moulded to his erect, shapely, and rounded form.  Though he carried this with the natural grace of a proud and beautiful belle, there was no hint of the feminine in his bearing, or in the contour of his pale, firm-set, handsome face.  As he moved through the hall-way, the five people whom Theron had seen waiting rose from their bench, and two of the women began in humble murmurs, “If you please, Father,” and “Good-evening to your Riverence;” but the priest merely nodded and passed on up the staircase, followed by his guests.  The people sat down on their bench again.