She gave a little start, as if waking. "I do not have attacks of nerves," she then said quietly.
The great man looked mollified.
"Pardon my blunt speech," he said; "but I am so used to ladies collapsing into hysterics under such circumstances. That—or not believing a word I say," he added grimly.
"I believe all that you say. What must I do?"
"Ah—there is the difficulty! I must tell you at once that it is out of the question to think of trying to deal with such a case in the patient's own home. He should be sent at once to a sanatorium—where he can be properly treated and restrained."
"He would never consent," said Sophy, in a dull voice.
"Good heavens! my dear lady—are you dreaming of consulting the wishes of a maniac?"
"He is not always like this, Doctor Carfew. At times he is perfectly rational."
"Quite so. When he has had neither too much nor too little of either drug. To be in an apparently normal condition, now that he is saturated with the poison, his system must daily absorb a certain amount of either cocaine or morphia. Too little racks his nerves. Too much turns him into a madman."
Sophy paled even more; then she said apathetically: