With a feeling of irritation and low spirits, I mounted the steps of the house in Gloucester Square and inquired for my new patient.

I was ushered into a pretty morning-room, and shortly afterwards there entered a slim, youngish-looking woman, not exactly handsome, but of refined appearance, dark, with hair well coiled by an expert maid, and wearing a simple dress of pearl-grey cashmere, which clung about her form and showed it to distinct advantage. Before she had greeted me I saw that she was a type subject to nerve-storms, perhaps with a craving for stimulants after the reaction.

"Good morning, Doctor," she exclaimed, crossing the room and greeting me pleasantly. "I received your note last night. You were absent each time I called."

"Yes," I responded. "I was called out to an urgent case, and compelled to remain."

"Does that happen often in your profession?" she asked, sinking into a chair opposite me. "If it does, I fear that doctors' wives must have an uncomfortable time. Your housekeeper was quite concerned about you."

"But when one is a bachelor, as I am, absence is not of any great moment," I laughed.

At that moment her dark, brilliant eyes met mine, and I fancied I detected a strange look in them.

"Well," she said with some hesitation, "I am very glad you have come at last, Doctor, for I want to consult you upon a secret and very serious matter concerning myself, and to obtain your opinion."

"I shall be most happy to give you whatever advice lies in my power," I responded, a.s.suming an air of professional gravity, and preparing myself to listen to her symptoms. "What is the nature of your ailment?" I inquired.

"Well," she answered, "I can scarcely describe it: I seem in perpetually low spirits, although I have no cause whatever to be sad, and, further, there is a matter which troubles me exceedingly. I hardly like to confess it, but of late I have developed a terrible craving for stimulants."

I put to her a number of questions which it is unnecessary here to recount, and found her exactly as I had supposed--a bundle of nerves.

"But this unaccountable craving for stimulants is most remarkable," she went on. "I am naturally a most temperate woman, but nowadays I feel that I cannot live without having recourse to brandy or some other spirit."

"Sometimes you feel quite well and strong, then suddenly you experience a sensation of being extremely ill?" I suggested.

"Exactly. How do you account for it?"

"The feeling of strength and vigour is not necessarily the outcome of actual strength, any more than is the feeling of weakness the necessary outcome of actual weakness," I responded. "A person may be weak to a degree, and the sands of life be almost run out, and yet feel overwhelmingly strong and exuberantly happy, and, on the other hand, when in sound and vigorous health, he may feel exhausted and depressed.

Feelings, especially so with women of the better cla.s.s, rise into being in connexion with the nervous system. Whether a person feels well or ill depends upon the structure of his nervous system and the way in which it is played upon, for, like a musical instrument, it may be made to give forth gay music or sad."

"But is not my case remarkable?" she asked.

"Not at all," I responded.

"Then you think that you can treat me, and prevent me from becoming a dipsomaniac?" she said eagerly.

"Certainly," I replied. "I have no doubt that this craving can be removed by proper treatment. I will write you a prescription."

"Ah?" she exclaimed, with a sigh. "You doctors, with your serums and the like, can nowadays inoculate against almost every disease. Would that you could give us women an immune from that deadly ailment so common among my s.e.x, and so very often fatal."

"What ailment?" I asked, rather surprised at her sudden and impetuous speech.

"That of love!" she responded in a low, strained voice--the voice of a woman desperate.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

WHAT HAPPENED TO ME.

"Do you consider love an ailment?" I asked, looking at her in quick surprise.

"In many cases," she responded in a serious tone. "I fear I am no exception to the general rule," she added meaningly.

Those words amounted to the admission that she had a lover, and I regarded her with considerable astonishment. She was a smart woman. I could only suppose that she and her husband were an ill-a.s.sorted pair.

Possibly she had married for money, and was now filled with regret, as, alas! is so frequently the case.

"You appear unhappy," I observed in a sympathetic tone, for my curiosity had been aroused by her words.

"Yes, Doctor," she answered in a low, intense voice, toying nervously with her fine rings. "To tell the truth, I am most unhappy. I have come up to town to consult you, unknown to my husband, for I have heard that you make the treatment of nervous disorders your speciality."

"And by whom was I recommended to you?" I inquired, somewhat interested in this new and entirely undeserved fame which I had apparently achieved.

"By an old patient of yours--a lady whom I met at a house-party a month ago, in Yorkshire."

"But I understood that you were consulting me regarding your craving for stimulants," I said, as her dark, serious eyes met mine again.

She was a decidedly attractive woman, with the easy air and manner of one brought up in good society.

"The craving for drink is the least dangerous of my ailments," she responded. "It is the craving for love which is driving me to despair."

I remained silent for a moment, my eyes fixed upon her.

"Pardon my remark," I said, at last, in a low tone, "but I gather from your words that some man has come between yourself and your husband."

"Between myself and my husband!" she echoed in surprise. "Why, no, Doctor. You don't understand me. I love my husband, and he has no love for me!" Her statement was certainly a most unusual one. She was by no means a simple-minded woman, but, on the contrary, clever and intelligent, with a thorough knowledge of the world. It therefore seemed astounding that she should make this remarkable confession. But I controlled my surprise, and responded--

"You are, unfortunately, but one wife among thousands in exactly the same position. If we only knew the composition of the ancient love-philtre it would be in daily requisition. But, unfortunately, medical science is unable to influence the pa.s.sion of the heart."

"Of course," she sighed. Then, with her eyes cast down upon the small table beside which she was sitting, she added, "I suppose, if the truth were known, you consider me very foolish in making this confession to you, a comparative stranger?"

"I do not consider it foolishness at all," I hastened to a.s.sure her. "A neglected wife must always excite sympathy."

"And have I yours?"

"Most a.s.suredly," I answered. "It is evident, from my diagnosis, that you are suffering from sudden and abrupt alterations in the feelings.

You are more especially subject to a feeling of malaise, accompanied by mental depression, as at this moment. Therefore, I must endeavour to remove the cause. As regards the affection you bear your husband, I would presume to remind you of the very true adage which declares that `Love begets love.'"

"Ah," she interrupted, "that is untrue in my case."

"Am I, then, to understand that your husband is attracted by some other person?"

"I really don't know; I do not know what to think. He is indifferent-- that is all."

"What difference is there in your ages?"

"I am thirty. He is fifty-eight."

"Ah!" I exclaimed. "And am I to presume that your marriage was a loveless one?"

"Not at all," she answered quickly. "I was very fond of him, and he made some pretence of affection."