"Yes, rather recently. This last winter."
"Now, tell me as your doctor, whether or not the circumstances connected with that interruption of your love-affair have depressed you—have made you not care much about living?"
Phillida's "I suppose they have" was almost inaudible.
"Now, my child, you must not let these things weigh upon you. The world will not always look dark. Try to see it more lightly. I think you must go away. You must have a change of scene and you must see people. I will find your mother. Good-morning, Miss Callender."
And with that the doctor shook hands in his half-sympathetic, half-reserved manner, and went out into the hall.
Mrs. Callender, who was waiting at the top of the stairs, came down and encountered him.
"May I see you alone a moment?" said the doctor, looking at his watch, which always seemed to go too fast to please him.
Mrs. Callender led the way to the basement dining-room, below, beckoning Agatha, who sat there, to go up to her sister.
"Mrs. Callender, there is in your daughter's case an interrupted love affair which is depressing her health, and which may cut short her life. Do you think that the engagement is broken off for all time, or is it but a tiff?"
"I hardly know, doctor. My daughter is a peculiar person; she is very good, but with ideas of her own. We hardly understand the cause of the disagreement—or why she still refuses to see the young man."