"O God!" she whispered brokenly, "it's harder than I thought it would be; but for my child's sake I can stand it, and anyway, I'm glad I'm not a millstone or a stumblin'-block."
"ONE TASTE OF THE OLD TIME"
"There is no organic disease whatever," said the doctor. "The trouble is purely mental. No, I don't mean that," he corrected hastily, as he saw the look of dismay on David Maynor's face. "Your wife is not losing her mind. Nothing of that sort. Indeed, I take her to be a woman of unusually sound mentality. But, evidently there is some trouble preying on her mind and producing these nervous symptoms. The prescription I am leaving will palliate these, but it remains for you to find out what the trouble is and remove it, if you can. There are some cases where doctors are powerless, and this, I think, is one of them." He reached for his hat and bowing with professional courtesy turned to leave.
"How much do I owe you?" said David Maynor.
The blunt question was like a sentry's challenge, and the doctor paused with his hand on the knob of the door.
"Ah—never mind about that now. A bill will be sent you at the end of the month." His tone and manner implied that this was too trivial a matter to be mentioned.