POLLYANNA
"Well—can't you?"
"Can't I! Pendleton, you know very well I haven't been inside that door for more than fifteen years. You don't know—but I will tell you—that the mistress of that house told me that the next time she asked me to enter it, I might take it that she was begging my pardon, and that all would be as before—which meant that she'd marry me. Perhaps you see her summoning me now—but I don't!"
"But couldn't you go—without a summons?"
The doctor frowned.
"Well, hardly. I have some pride, you know."
"But if you're so anxious—couldn't you swallow your pride and forget the quarrel—"
"Forget the quarrel!" interrupted the doctor, savagely. "I'm not talking of that kind of pride. So far as that is concerned, I'd go from here there on my knees—or on my head—if that would do any good. It's professional pride I'm talking about. It's a case of sickness, and I'm a doctor. I can't butt in and say, 'Here, take me!'—can I?"
"Chilton, what was the quarrel?" demanded Pendleton.
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