"And how many years have you been married?"

"Three," she responded.

According to "Debrett" she had married five years ago, but for such small untruths a woman may always be forgiven.

I looked at her, unable to entirely satisfy myself regarding her. She seemed suffering from an agitation which she was striving with all her might to control. That her nervous organisation was impaired was no doubt correct, but it struck me that the cause of it all was some sudden and terrible shock to the system.

"I a.s.sure you that you have my sympathy in your mental distress," I said at length. "There have always been fatalists who have argued that we must accept without question what is sent us, that we must bow in submission to a `will' without really seeking to find out what the `will' is."

"Yes," she said thoughtfully. "It is quite impossible not to admit that the increased knowledge of the laws which regulate the visible universe has increased our living faith and added to the glory of the Almighty, while it has made it more difficult for men to make G.o.ds after their own image and use them for their own purposes."

"Exactly," I said. "Modern medicine is teaching us every day that much bodily suffering is due to man's wilful neglect of the beneficent laws of Nature. That diseases are due to ignorance and disregard of law, and are not `sent' as scourges by a petulant and capricious deity, is clearly a doctrine which in no way dims the glory of G.o.d."

"I quite agree," she responded. Then, in a low tone, more confidential than before, she added, "You, Doctor, have expressed sympathy for me in my distress, and I look to you for a.s.sistance. Curious though it may seem, I have scarcely a single friend in whom I can confide."

"I shall respect your confidence, as is my duty," I answered, "and will do my best to stifle your craving for stimuli."

"But the love of my husband?"

"Endeavour to live uprightly and honestly, and show him your true worth above all other women," I said. "It is the only way."

"I have done so," she answered sadly, "but have failed."

"Do not give up. A man is never wholly proof against a good woman, especially if that woman be his wife."

A silence fell between us.

"And may I count upon your aid in all this, Doctor?" she asked, with some hesitation.

"Certainly," I responded. "If I can give you any advice, I shall always be pleased to do so."

"But my husband must know nothing. Recollect I have consulted you unknown to him."

"As you wish, of course."

"And, in future, if I wish to see you, may I call at your surgery?"

"If you desire," I replied. "But I am only _loc.u.m tenens_ for my friend, Doctor Raymond, who is in the country. Perhaps I may go into practice in the country afterwards."

"And leave me!" she exclaimed anxiously. "I hope not."

"I shall still consider you my patient," I said.

"No," she said. "I trust that you will regard me as more than a mere patient--as your friend."

"I am honoured by your friendship," I replied. "And if I can, at any time, do anything to a.s.sist you in this mental trouble of yours, I will do it with pleasure."

I had, during our conversation, been attracted by her frankness of manner and the evident sorrow which weighed so heavily upon her. She had confessed to me, and we had now become friends. My position was a curious one: the adviser of a woman who was wearing out her heart for her husband's love. It was not altogether devoid of danger either, for her ladyship was an exceedingly attractive woman.

I had written the prescription and handed it to her, but, apparently in no mood to allow me to go, she did not rise.

While I had been busily writing at the little escritoire her manner had apparently changed, for she was no longer the serious, nervous woman of ten minutes before, but quite gay and vivacious, with a look of triumph in her fine, dark eyes.

"I am very glad, Doctor Colkirk, that you have promised to a.s.sist me,"

she said, laughing merrily and stretching out her tiny foot from beneath the hem of her skirt with a distinct air of coquetry. "I feel sure that we shall be excellent friends."

"I hope so," I replied. "But you must be careful of your general health, and persevere with the treatment."

"I don't care much for chemists' concoctions," she laughed. "It's very good of you to have given me this prescription, but I don't propose to make use of it."

"Why not?" I inquired in quick surprise.

"Because I only described to you imaginary symptoms," she laughed mischievously. "I enjoy a gla.s.s of port immensely after dinner, but further than that never touch stimulants, nor have any inclination for them."

"So you have deceived me," I said severely, for it seemed as though she wished to poke fun at me.

"Yes. But I hope you will forgive me," she answered, laughing.

"I cannot see what motive you can have in calling me in to describe a malady from which you are not suffering. A doctor's time is valuable."

"I had a motive."

"And pray what was it?"

"Well, I wished to make your acquaintance," she answered boldly, without hesitation.

"You adopted a rather unusual course," I remarked, somewhat annoyed.

"I think, under the circ.u.mstances, this little ruse of mine may possibly be forgiven," she answered. "I am not the first woman who has called in a doctor professionally merely in order to make his acquaintance."

"And for what reason did you wish to know me?"

"I trust you are not annoyed with me?" she exclaimed. "You must admit that I acted the part of the nervous woman so well that even you, a medical man, were, deceived."

"I admit that you have taken an unfair advantage of me," I answered calmly, wondering why she should thus have sought my acquaintance.

"But you will forgive me, Doctor, won't you?" she urged.

"If you will tell me the reason you were so desirous of meeting me."

"I wanted to know you."

"Why?"

"I had seen you in the distance many times, and desired to become personally acquainted with you."

"For what reason?"