"No, indeed," said Annette; "my ailments are trifles compared with those of Mrs. Derinzy."
"How do you feel when you are ill?" asked George.
"What a curious man you are? what curious questions you ask! Why do you take any interest in me and my ailments?"
"In you, because--well, I can only say that I find you very interesting," said George, with a smile; "and in your illness because I am a doctor's son, you know, and understand something of a doctor's work."
"Well, I can scarcely call mine illnesses," said the girl; "for such as they are, I and Mrs. Stothard--the woman you were just talking to--manage them between us. I feel a sort of heavy burning sensation in my brain, a buzzing in my ears, and a dimness of sight, and then I faint away, and I know of nothing that happens, how the time goes by, or what is said or done around me, until I come to myself, and feel, oh, so horribly weak and tired!"
"I told you you spoke too lightly of your own ailments, Miss Derinzy," said George, with an earnest, passionate look; "and this account of what you suffer seems to give me the idea that you require more skilled treatment than can be afforded by Mrs. Stothard, kind though she may be."
"I didn't say she was kind," said the girl sullenly; "I hate her!"
"Has my father never prescribed for you in one of these attacks?"
"Never; and never shall!"
"I hope you don't hate him too?" asked George with a smile.