"Indeed I do," said he.
"The world is getting to be all a blank to me," she said; "everything is blank."
"Your meals?" he asked.
"No," she said. "Of course I must eat to live."
"And sleep?"
"Oh, I sleep well enough. Indeed, I wish I could sleep all the time, so that I could not know how the world—at least its pleasures and affections—are passing away from me. All this is dreadful, doctor, when you come to think of it. I have thought and thought and thought about it, until it has become perfectly plain to me that I am losing my mind."
Dr. Tolbridge looked into the fire.
"Well," said he, presently, "I am glad to hear it."
Miss Dora sprang to her feet.
"Oh, sit down," said he, "and let me explain myself. My advice is, if you lose your mind, don't mind the loss. It really will do you good. That sounds hard and cruel, doesn't it? But wait a bit. It often happens that the minds of young people are like their first teeth—what are called milk teeth, you know. These minds and these teeth do very well for a time, but after a while they become unable to perform the services which will be demanded of them, and they are shed, or at least they ought to be. Sometimes, of course, they have to be extracted."