"A talk with me?"
"Doctor Moon's an old friend of mine, and I think he can tell you a few things, Luella, that you ought to know."
"Why—" She tried to laugh, but she was surprised and annoyed. "I don't see, exactly, what you mean. There's nothing the matter with me. I don't believe I've ever felt better in my life."
Doctor Moon looked at Charles, asking permission to speak. Charles nodded, and his hand went up automatically to his face.
"Your husband has told me a great deal about your unsatisfactory life together," said Doctor Moon, still impersonally. "He wonders if I can be of any help in smoothing things out."
Luella's face was burning.
"I have no particular faith in psychoanalysis," she said coldly, "and I scarcely consider myself a subject for it."
"Neither have I," answered Doctor Moon, apparently unconscious of the snub; "I have no particular faith in anything but myself. I told you I am not a specialist, nor, I may add, a faddist of any sort. I promise nothing."
For a moment Luella considered leaving the room. But the effrontery of the suggestion aroused her curiosity too.
"I can't imagine what Charles has told you," she said, controlling herself with difficulty, "much less why. But I assure you that our affairs are a matter entirely between my husband and me. If you have no objections, Doctor Moon, I'd much prefer to discuss something—less personal."