“The doctor!” said Merchison with scorn, “you mean the idiot, my good woman, or more likely the political agitator who would sell his soul for a billet.”

Then Jane rose in wrath.

“I beg your pardon for interrupting you, sir,” she said, “but the gentleman you speak of as an idiot or a political agitator is Dr. Therne, my father, the member of Parliament for this city.”

Dr. Merchison stared at her for a long while, and indeed when she was angry Jane was beautiful enough to make any one stare, then he said simply, “Oh, indeed.  I don’t meddle with politics, so I didn’t know.”

This was too much for Jane, who, afraid to trust herself to further speech, walked straight out of the cottage.  She had passed down the model garden and arrived at the model gate when she heard a quick powerful step behind her, and turned round to find herself face to face with Dr. Merchison.

“I have followed you to apologise, Miss Therne,” he said; “of course I had no idea who you were and did not wish to hurt your feelings, but I happen to have strong feelings about vaccination and spoke more roughly than I ought to have done.”

“Other people, sir, may also have strong opinions about vaccination,” answered Jane.

“I know,” he said, “and I know, too, what the end of it all will be, as you will also, Miss Therne, if you live long enough.  It is useless arguing, the lists are closed and we must wait until the thing is put to the proof of battle.  When it is, one thing is sure, there will be plenty of dead,” he added with a grim smile.  Then taking off his hat and muttering, “Again I apologise,” he returned into the cottage.

It seems that for a while Jane was very angry.  Then she remembered that, after all, Dr. Merchison had apologised, and that he had made his offensive remarks in the ignorance and prejudice which afflicted the entire medical profession and were more worthy of pity than of anger.  Further, she remembered that in her indignation she had forgotten to acknowledge or accept his apology, and, lastly, she asked him to a garden-party.

It is scarcely necessary for me to dwell upon the subsequent developments of this unhappy business—­if I am right in calling it unhappy.  The piteous little drama is played, both the actors are dead, and the issue of the piece is unknown and, for the present, unknowable.  Bitterly opposed as I was to the suit of Merchison, justice compels me to say that, under the cloak of a rough unpromising manner, he hid a just and generous heart.  Had that man lived he might have become great, although he would never have become popular.  As least something in his nature attracted my daughter Jane, for she, who up to that time had not been moved by any man, became deeply attached to him.