“Pray let me know what you wish done.”
She set out valorously to explain; but the effort of putting her troubles into words seemed to bring them more home to her, and she suddenly blurred over and became inarticulate. Her daughter bent towards her, and kissed her with the prettiest little spasm of love and pity.
“I will tell you about it, doctor,” said she. “Poor mother is almost worn out. Fred—my brother, that is to say, is worse. He has become noisy, and will not be quiet.”
“And my brother, the general,” continued Mrs. La Force, “naturally did not expect this when he kindly offered us a home, and, being a nervous man, it is very trying to him. In fact, it cannot go on. He says so himself.”
“But what is mother to do?” cried the girl, taking up the tale again. “No hotel or lodging-house would take us in while poor Fred is like that. And we have not the heart to send him to an asylum. Uncle will not have us any longer, and we have nowhere to go to.” Her grey eyes tried to look brave, but her mouth would go down at the corners.
I rose and walked up and down the room, trying to think it all out.
“What I wanted to ask you,” said Mrs. La Force, “was whether perhaps you knew some doctor or some private establishment which took in such cases—so that we could see Fred every day or so. The only thing is that he must be taken at once, for really my brother has reached the end of his patience.”
I rang the bell for my housekeeper.
“Miss Williams,” said I, “do you think we can furnish a bedroom by to-night, so as to take in a gentleman who is ill?”
Never have I so admired that wonderful woman’s self-command.