"In years or in experience?" I said. "Which way do you count your age?"
She got up suddenly again and walked to the dressing-case, then to the
window. In doing so she raised her hand to her eyes. It was the hand
with the lace handkerchief in it.
"Experience!" she exclaimed; and then, checking herself. "No, people
never think me so old--not at first," she said, returning to her chair.
"But I suppose I am not too old to be cured with sulph. 12, am I?" Then
she laughed her little nervous, quick laugh, and added: "Dear old Dr.
Griswold, what faith he must have in 'sulph. 12.' and in his patients.
He seems to think that they were made for each other, as it were;
and--of course, I am not a doctor--how do I know they were not?"
"Miss Campbell," I said, stepping quickly to her side and surprising
her, "you do not need sulphur. You need to be relieved of this strain
on your nerves. Make up your mind to tell me your history to-morrow
morning--to tell it all; I do not want some fairy-tale. Until then, take
these drops to quiet your nerves."
There were tears in her eyes. She did not attempt to hide them. They
ran down her cheeks, and she simply closed the lids and let them flow.
I took her lace handkerchief and wiped her cheeks. Then I dropped it in
her lap, placed the phial on her stand, took up my hat, and left.