"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-assorted 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."