Dr. Perriera called to see Kingsley, and of his own accord visited him daily. He gave Nansie kindly hope and sympathy, but did not enter into the peculiarities of her husband's case. With Mr. Loveday he was more open.
"It is a singular condition," he said. "The loss of memory is not at all uncommon, nor, either, is its recovery; but in most instances this loss is a total loss, time, well-known incidents, relative circumstances, the names of friends and acquaintances, even one's own name, being plunged for a period into absolute obscurity. But here the loss of memory is partial, and the singular phase of it is that it affects only those circumstances of the past which it would be disagreeable to recall. He remembers all that is pleasant and happy in his life, but forgets all that has brought trouble upon him. It belongs to this phase that he is incapable of realizing the privations of the life which seems to lie before him. His temperament is exceptionally bright and cheerful; he looks upon the happy side of nature, and every hopeful sentiment which passes his lips seems to blossom into flower at the moment of its utterance. I can imagine no happier condition of being; but in a poor man it has its grave and most serious side."
"How?" inquired Mr. Loveday.
"In the fact," replied Dr. Perriera, "that it allows no room for effort, that it affords no incentive to it, that it creates a sure contentment even for a crust of bread, and an utter obliviousness to what may be necessary for those who, he being the head of the family, are naturally dependent upon him."
"That is to say," observed Mr. Loveday, "that there is no hope of his being the bread-winner."
"None," said Dr. Perriera, "until there is a radical change in him; and I confess to being at a loss as to how this can be effected."
The correctness of the good doctor's diagnosis was verified by an incident which did not come to the ears of Nansie or her uncle until after its occurrence. Stronger in body, and able to walk abroad without assistance, Kingsley soon made himself acquainted with all the intricacies of the neighborhood; and on a certain morning he wended his steps to the West-end of the city, and stood before his father's house. Without hesitation he knocked and rang, and upon the door being opened pushed his way past the astonished servant, and walked straight to his father's study. There sat Mr. Manners, who gazed at his son with sternness and some inward agitation which he was successful in concealing.
"Good-morning, father," said Kingsley, drawing a chair to the table, and seating himself; then glancing at the papers scattered about, added, in a tone of inquiry, "Fresh contracts?"
Mr. Manners did not reply to the question.
"What brings you here?" he asked.