"Love at first sight," said young Holliday, putting the drawing
away again. "But the course of it doesn't run smooth. It's the
old story. She's monopolized, as usual; trammeled by a rash
engagement to some poor man who is never likely to get money
enough to marry her. It was lucky I heard of it in time, or I
should certainly have risked a declaration when she gave me that
drawing. Here, doctor, here is pen, ink, and paper all ready for
you."

"When she gave you that drawing? Gave it? gave it?"

He repeated the words slowly to himself, and suddenly closed his
eyes. A momentary distortion passed across his face, and I saw
one of his hands clutch up the bedclothes and squeeze them hard.
I thought he was going to be ill again, and begged that there
might be no more talking. He opened his eyes when I spoke, fixed
them once more searchingly on Arthur, and said, slowly and
distinctly:

"You like her, and she likes you. The poor man may die out of
your way. Who can tell that she may not give you herself as well
as her drawing, after all?"

Before young Holliday could answer he turned to me, and said in a
whisper: "Now for the prescription." From that time, though he
spoke to Arthur again, he never looked at him more.

When I had written the prescription, he examined it, approved of
it, and then astonished us both by abruptly wishing us