. Of course I ought not to have asked."

"You ought not to need to ask," Thorndyke replied, with a smile; "you
should put the facts together and reason from them yourself."

While we had been talking I had noticed Thorndyke glance at me
inquisitively from time to time. Now after an interval of silence, he
asked suddenly:

"Is anything amiss, Berkeley? Are you worrying about your friends'
affairs?"

"No, not particularly; though their prospects don't look very rosy."

"Perhaps they are not quite so bad as they look," said he. "But I am
afraid something is troubling you. All your gay spirits seem to have
evaporated." He paused for a few moments, and then added: "I don't
want to intrude on your private affairs, but if I can help you by
advice or otherwise, remember that we are old friends and that you are
my academic offspring."

Instinctively, with a man's natural reticence, I began to mumble a
half-articulate disclaimer; and then I stopped. After all, why should
I not confide in him? He was a good man and a wise man, full of human
sympathy, as I knew, though so cryptic and secretive in his
professional capacity. And I wanted a friend badly just now.

"I'm afraid," I began shyly, "it is not a matter that admits of much
help, and it's hardly the sort of thing that I ought to worry you by
talking about----"

"If it is enough to make you unhappy, my dear fellow, it is enough to
merit serious consideration by your friend; so if you don't mind
telling me----"

"Of course I don't, sir!" I exclaimed.

"Then fire away; and don't call me 'sir.' We are brother practitioners
now."

Thus encouraged, I poured out the story of my little romance; bashfully
at first and with halting phrases, but later, with more freedom and
confidence. He listened with grave attention, and once or twice put a
question when my narrative became a little disconnected. When I had
finished he laid his hand softly on my arm.

"You have had rough luck, Berkeley. I don't wonder that you are
miserable. I am more sorry than I can tell you."

"Thank you," I said. "It's exceedingly good of you to listen so
patiently, but it's a shame for me to pester you with my sentimental
troubles."

"Now, Berkeley, you don't think that, and I hope you don't think that I
do. We should be bad biologists and worse physicians if we should
underestimate the importance of that which is nature's chiefest care.
The one salient biological truth is the pa