Society returned to town, but she flatly refused to enter it. Nor would she receive any one who called. The doctor remonstrated in vain. He trusted her perfectly and a glass of champagne at dinner would not hurt her. If she expected to become quite herself again she must have diversions. She was leading an unnatural life.
She deigned no answer.
He warned her that tongues would wag. He had met several of the women during the summer and told them her lungs were healed…. No doubt he had been over-anxious, mistaken—in the beginning. He wished he had given her a tonic of iron arsenic and strychnine, alternated with cod-liver oil. But it was too late for regrets, and at least she was well on the road to recovery; if she snubbed people now they would take their revenge when she would be eager for the pleasures of Society again.
Madeleine laughed aloud.
"But, my dear, this is only a passing phase. Of course your system is depressed but that will wear off, and what you need now, even more than brandy twice a day, is a mental tonic. By the way, don't you think you might leave it off now?"
"No, I do not. If my system is depressed I'd go to pieces altogether without it."
"I'll give you a regular tonic—"
"I'll not take it. You are not disposed to use force, I imagine."
"No, I cannot do that. But you'll accept these invitations—some of them?" He indicated a pile of square envelopes on the table. He had opened them but she had not given them a passing glance.
"Society would have the effect of arresting my 'cure.' I hate it. If you force me to go out I'll drink too much and disgrace you."