Chap­ter II opens with George Dupont enter­ing the doc­tor’s office not just as a patient, but as a young man caught in the storm of guilt, secre­cy, and anx­i­ety. The heavy air of the con­sul­ta­tion room mir­rors his state of mind as he faces what he fears most—a con­fir­ma­tion of a vene­re­al dis­ease. As he halt­ing­ly speaks, his words attempt to jus­ti­fy his cau­tion, not­ing that unlike oth­ers, he had been rel­a­tive­ly restrained. But the physi­cian does not enter­tain com­par­isons. He explains that even a sin­gle reck­less encounter is enough to alter one’s future per­ma­nent­ly. In a soci­ety where men are encour­aged to indulge but pun­ished when con­se­quences arise, George rep­re­sents the every­man wak­ing up too late to respon­si­bil­i­ty. The diag­no­sis of syphilis hits like a sen­tence, and George is left reel­ing. He can­not grasp how one choice now jeop­ar­dizes his love, his mar­riage plans, and poten­tial­ly the life of some­one he cher­ish­es deeply.

Left alone while the doc­tor process­es the test, George reflects on his actions. The opu­lence of the room—leather chairs, clin­i­cal tools, books on pub­lic health—only ampli­fies his feel­ing of small­ness. He dreads return­ing home with the truth in his pock­et, unsure if silence or dis­clo­sure will hurt more. The physi­cian returns, con­firm­ing George’s fears with clin­i­cal detach­ment. Though he tries to down­play the sever­i­ty, the doc­tor offers no com­fort, instead reveal­ing that the dis­ease, if ignored, could dev­as­tate not just George’s health but the life of his future wife and child. The eth­i­cal weight of this moment is immense. George is told he must aban­don plans for mar­riage. The instruc­tion is not a pun­ish­ment, but a pre­cau­tion for inno­cent lives. With each sen­tence, the physi­cian builds a moral argu­ment stronger than any medicine—treat the body, yes, but pro­tect oth­ers too.

Ini­tial­ly, George clings to denial. He speaks of Hen­ri­ette, of their plans and hap­pi­ness, try­ing to find a loop­hole in the real­i­ty pre­sent­ed to him. But the doc­tor coun­ters every hope­ful phrase with bru­tal clar­i­ty. He shares cas­es of con­gen­i­tal syphilis and ruined fam­i­lies, warn­ing that a child born from igno­rance or self­ish­ness could suf­fer with­out ever being giv­en a choice. George begins to shift from pan­ic to despair. He no longer sees him­self as the vic­tim, but as a poten­tial threat to those he loves. He real­izes that his silence is not noble—it’s dan­ger­ous. This recog­ni­tion doesn’t come eas­i­ly. He stares at the floor, hands clenched, hear­ing the doc­tor not as a lec­ture but as a final plea.

As the doctor’s voice grows loud­er, infused with pas­sion and frus­tra­tion, George is forced to con­front not just sci­ence but moral­i­ty. He is asked to rise above fear and shame and do what is right: delay the wed­ding and begin treat­ment imme­di­ate­ly. At that moment, the weight of male priv­i­lege becomes unde­ni­able. George has the free­dom to walk away from con­se­quences, but not with­out guilt. He remem­bers Henriette’s smile and feels the crush­ing irony—what was once a love sto­ry may now end as a les­son. His silence could rob her of health, moth­er­hood, even life. The doctor’s out­burst is not cold judg­ment, but an act of com­pas­sion born of bit­ter expe­ri­ence. He has seen too many lives ruined by secre­cy and pride.

By the end of the chap­ter, George’s mind is no longer filled with just per­son­al loss. He begins to con­sid­er the broad­er impli­ca­tions of his decisions—how many oth­ers have made the same mis­takes, how often shame keeps peo­ple from seek­ing help. The con­ver­sa­tion becomes a micro­cosm of a larg­er cri­sis: the fail­ure of pub­lic edu­ca­tion about sex­u­al health, the fear of moral con­dem­na­tion, and the absence of open dia­logue. In that small office, George moves from a fright­ened man to one who begins to under­stand what courage tru­ly means. It’s not hid­ing the truth—it’s fac­ing it. And in choos­ing to accept his con­di­tion, delay his mar­riage, and begin treat­ment, George steps onto the path of redemp­tion. The pain is real, but so is the respon­si­bil­i­ty. And in that, per­haps, lies the begin­ning of healing—not just for him, but for a soci­ety too long silent on mat­ters that demand light.