Maud made a little quick movement towards him.
“Not seriously so?” she asked. “You don’t mean that there is anything to be anxious about?”
“I don’t, anyhow, want you to be anxious,” said he, “but as long as he is continually anxious himself, and gets constantly tired, those headaches will probably be rather frequent. He has had attacks during these last three days, and pain like that is good for nobody. I certainly hope he will get rest soon. We do not want it to become chronic.”
“Chronic?”
“Yes; your nerves, you know, form habits, like everything else.”
Maud was silent a moment; an anxiety she had felt while she was waiting for Thurso to come in last night reminded her again of its presence. She did not much want to speak of it, but, after all, she was speaking to the old doctor whom she had known since she was a child. Also, she very much wanted to be reassured.
“He takes laudanum when he is in great pain,” she said. “Is that wise?”
“It would be unwise of him to do so frequently, or continue doing so for long. There, again, is a reason why we do not want his nerves to form the habit of pain. I did not know, by the way, that he took it. It was prescribed for him, of course.”
“Oh yes; I know it was.”
Dr. Symes seemed to dismiss that from his mind.