leaned forward.

"She has refused me," he said simply.

The little doctor, after an incredulous stare, began chattering
with wrath. "Refused you! Pah! Pooh! That's nothing! That signifies
absolutely nothing! It's meaningless! It's a detail. You get well--do
you hear? You go and get well; then try it again! Then you'll see! And
if she is an idiot--in the event of her irrational persistence in an
incredible and utterly indefensible attitude"--he choked up, then fairly
barked at Siward--"take her anyway, sir! Run off with her! Dominate
circumstances, sir! take charge of events! ... But you can't do it till
you've clapped yourself into prison for life. ... And God help you if you
let yourself escape!"

And after a long while Siward said: "If I should ever marry--and--and--"

"Had children, eh? Is that it? Oh, it is, eh? Well, I say, marry! I say,
have children! If you're a man, you'll breed men. The chances are they
may not inherit what you have. It skips some generations--some, now and
then. But if they do, good God! I say it's better to be born and have
a chance to fight than never to come into the arena at all! By winning
out, the world learns; by failure, the world is no less wise. The
important thing is birth. The main point is to breed--to produce--to
reproduce! but not until you stand, sword in hand, and your armed heel
on the breast of your prostrate and subconscious self!"

He jumped up and began running about the room with short little bantam
steps, talking all the while.

"People say, 'Shall criminals be allowed to mate and produce young?
Shall malefactors be allowed to beget? No!' And I say no, too. Never so
long as they remain criminals and malefactors; so long as the evil in
them is in the ascendant. Never, until they are cured. That's what I
say; that's what I maintain. Crime is a disease; criminals are sick
people. No marriage for them until they're cured; no children for them
until they're well. If they cure themselves, let 'em marry; let 'em
breed; for then, if their children inherit the inclination, they also
inherit the grit to cauterise the malady."

He produced a huge handkerchief from the tails of his coat, and wiped
his damp features and polished his forehead so violently that his wig
took a new and jaunty angle.

"I'm talking too much," he said fretfully; "I'm talking a great
deal--all the time--continually. I've other patients--several--plenty!
Do you think you're the only man I know who'