“Does he partake of his meals regularly?”
“No, Mr Oldroyd,” said Mrs Alleyne, with a sigh.
“Does he sleep sufficiently and well?”
“Alas! No.”
“Of course he does not, my dear madam. Here is a man who never employs his muscles; never takes the slightest recreation; disappoints nature when she asks for food; and turns night into day as he performs long vigils watching the stars, and burning the midnight oil. How, in the name of all that is sensible, can such a man expect to enjoy good health? Why, nature revolts against it and steals it all away, to distribute among people who obey her laws.”
Mrs Alleyne sighed, and thought better of the doctor than she did before.
“It is impossible for such a man to be well, Mrs Alleyne; the wonder is that he has any health at all.”
“But he is really ill, now, Mr Oldroyd.”
“A little touched in the digestion, that is all.”
“And you will prescribe something for that?”