“Lady Forwood is a charming, kind woman,” he said, warmly; “and I am glad that you are such friends.”
“She told me I should tell you everything!” said the girl, clasping her jewelled hands nervously.
“Naturally, of course,” said Hugh, who had rapidly determined to treat the princess’ case, whatever it might prove to be, with bare matter-of-fact common sense: and, as in the case of hysterical subjects, to be unsympathetic—even, if necessary, rough. “A doctor should hear the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, from a patient. Otherwise, he is working in the dark, and might do more harm than good.”
The princess was evidently in earnest about herself. She fixed her eyes intently upon Hugh as he was speaking, listened with all her ears, and when he had ended his somewhat didactic little speech, sighed a little sigh of relief.
“It is a long story,” she began, apologetically.
“We medical men are accustomed to long stories,” said Hugh, “especially from ladies.”
“You do not like ladies?” said the princess, with a smile. (She seemed rather pleased than otherwise.) “I did not like the ladies of my country when I was a child. My mother and father were every day at the Court. Their own palace was a little Court. I was very unhappy. It was there I began to dream.”
She hesitated and gave a nervous glance around before she said the word, which, indeed, she spoke with bated breath.
“To dream?” said Dr. Paull, beginning to set down his new patient among the hysterical category. (When his hysterical patients could find nothing else to complain of, they invariably grumbled about their bad dreams, which were beyond anyone’s power to verify.) “Why, dreams are only imagination. Everyone has bad dreams. Dreams are nothing.”
“Do you think so?” asked the girl, with intense anxiety, with a strained look in her big eyes. “Tell me that again! Tell me dreams are nothing!”