“Well, Mr Salis, I think I can say a comforting word or two. By the way, I thought I would come on straight to you instead of calling first at the Manor House, and it is as well I did.”
“But the letter, sir—the letter from my poor friend?”
“Ah, yes, the letter,” said the old doctor dreamily. “I have read and studied it well.”
“And you think?”
“A great deal, my dear sir—a great deal; but I have not finished yet. A clear case of overtaxed brain. I should say that he had worked himself into a state of exhaustion, and then some shock must have occurred to destroy the tottering balance. Not a money trouble, for I think Mr North is well off. Not a love trouble, for judging from what I saw—”
“You are mistaken in that, sir,” said Salis. “My poor friend suffered a grievous shock a short time since.”
“Ah! just as I expected. That is quite sufficient to account for it all.”
“But the future, sir? For goodness’ sake, speak! Your reticence tortures me.”
“I beg your pardon. I am thoughtful and slow, Mr Salis. Let me try and set you at rest. As far as I can judge without further study of the case, I should say that you need be under very little uneasiness.”
“You do not consider his case necessitates his being placed in a private asylum?”