“Naw,” said the big doctor with good-natured contempt; “she’s going to be all right in the morning....  She’s a lovely creature, isn’t she?  Sam said so.  Sam has an eye for beauty.  But, by jinks!  I was scarcely prepared for such physical perfection—­h’m!—­or such fine and nice discrimination—­or for such pluck....  God knows what people’s families want these days.  If the world mated properly our best families would be extinct in another generation....  You’re one of ’em; you’d better get diligent before the world wakes up with a rush of common sense to its doddering old head.”  He gave him both hands, warmly, cordially:  “Good-bye, Louis.”

Neville said:  “I want you to know that I’d marry her to-morrow if she’d have me, Billy.”

The doctor lifted his eyebrows.

“Won’t she?”

“No.”

“Then probably you’re not up to sample.  A girl like that is no fool.  She’ll require a lot in a man.  However, you’re young; and you may make good yet.”

“You don’t understand, Billy—­”

“Yes, I do.  She wears a dinky miniature of you against her naked heart.  Yes, I guess I understand....  And I guess she’s that kind of a girl all unselfishness and innocence, and generous perversity and—­quixotic love....  It’s too bad, Louis.  I guess you’re up against it for fair.”

He surveyed the younger man, shook his head: 

“They can’t stand for her, can they?”

“No.”

“And she won’t stand for snaking you out of the fold.  That’s it, I fancy?”

“Yes.”

“Too bad—­too bad.  She’s a fine woman—­a very fine little woman.  That’s the kind a man ought to marry and bother the Almighty with gratitude all the rest of his life.  Well—­well!  Your family is your own after all; and I live in Dartford, thank God!—­not on lower Fifth Avenue or Tenth Street.”

He started away, halted, came back: 

“Couldn’t you run away with her?” he asked anxiously.

“She won’t,” replied Neville, unsmiling.

“I mean, violently.  But she’s too heavy to carry, I fancy—­and I’ll bet she’s got the vigour of little old Diana herself.  No—­you couldn’t do the Sabine act with her—­only a club and the cave-man’s gentle persuasion would help either of you....  Well—­well, if they see her at breakfast it may help some.  You know a woman makes or breaks herself at breakfast.  That’s why the majority of woman take it abed.  I’m serious, Louis; no man can stand ’em—­the majority.”

Once more he started away, hesitated, came back.

“Who’s this Countess that Sam is so crazy about?”

“A sweet little woman, well-bred, and very genuine and sincere.”

“Never heard of her in Dartford,” muttered the doctor.

Neville laughed grimly: 

“Billy, Tenth Street and lower Fifth Avenue and Greenwich Village and Chelsea and Stuyvesant Square—­and Syringa Avenue, Dartford, are all about alike.  Bird Centre is just as stupid as Manhattan; and there never was and never will be a republic and a democracy in any country on the face of this snob-cursed globe.”