"Who is sick, Miss Dora?" asked the doctor, quickly, as he shook hands with her.
She did not seem to understand him. "Nobody," she said. "That is, I have come to see you about myself."
"Oh," said he, "pray take a seat. I imagined from your face," he continued, with a smile, "that some one of your family was in desperate need of a doctor."
"No," said she, "it is I. For a long time I have thought of consulting you, and to-day I felt I must come."
"And what is the matter?" he asked.
"Doctor," said she, a tear forcing itself into each of her beautiful eyes, "I believe I am losing my mind."
"Indeed," said the doctor; "and how is your general health?"
"Oh, that's all right," answered Miss Dora. "I do not think there is the least thing the matter with me that way. It is all my mind. It has been failing me for a good while."
"How?" he asked. "What are the symptoms?"
"Oh, there are ever so many of them," she said; "I can't think of them all. I have lost all interest in everything in this world. You remember how much interest I used to take in things?"