He and his motherless daughters were "not in it" socially.
Saint X was not quite certain whether it shunned them or they it.

His services were sought only in extremities, partly because he would lie to his patients neither when he knew what ailed them nor when he did not, and partly because he was a militant infidel.

He lost no opportunity to attack religion in all its forms; and his two daughters let no opportunity escape to show that they stood with their father, whom they adored, and who had brought them up with his heart.

It was Dr.
Schulze's furious unbelief, investing him with a certain suggestion of Satan-got intelligence, that attracted Saint X to him in serious illnesses--somewhat as the Christian princes of mediaeval Europe tolerated and believed in the Jew physicians.

Saint X was only just reaching the stage at which it could listen to "higher criticism" without dread lest the talk should be interrupted by a bolt from "special Providence"; the fact that Schulze lived on, believing and talking as he did, could be explained only as miraculous and mysterious forbearance in which Satan must somehow have direct part.
"I didn't expect to see _you_ for many a year yet," said Schulze, as Hiram, standing, faced him sitting at his desk.
The master workman grew still more pallid as he heard the thought that weighted him in secret thus put into words.