"A case of the transmission of the original sin, I suppose," answered the Doctor, as she retired through the door. "And how is my patient to-day?" he repeated, as Florence's laughter died away and her steps were heard hurrying up the stairs.
"I don't think I am a bit better," said Marion somewhat mournfully, having relapsed into her former state in the presence of the Doctor. After adjusting the cloth on her aching head, she continued: "I have no animation or ambition; I have these frightful nervous pains and headaches; my appetite is all gone; nothing seems to amuse me any more, and I lie here all day long feeling utterly wretched. In the evening I manage to develop animation enough to take me out, and, for a while, I forget myself, but when it is over I feel worse than ever. Oh, Doctor, what is the matter with me?"
Dr. Maccanfrae looked at Marion a moment as though hesitating to answer her question, then, feeling her pulse, he replied: "Mrs. Sanderson, there is nothing the matter with you."
"What do you mean, Doctor?" said Marion somewhat angrily. "Do you suppose I don't know how I feel?"
"When I say there is nothing the matter with you, I mean you have no organic disease. You are simply suffering from the fashionable complaint of nervous depression, or neurasthenia, as we physicians call it. Almost every woman in your station in life has it sooner or later. It is nothing but a symptom, but it may grow into a great many worse things."
"Well, why don't you cure me then, if it is nothing?" remarked Marion in a provoked manner.
The Doctor looked at her a moment; then he asked slowly, but with an emphasis which seemed to carry a hidden meaning: "Do you want to get well, Mrs. Sanderson?"
Marion looked up somewhat startled. "Why do you ask such a question?" she replied.
"Because you produced the disease yourself, and you alone can cure it."
"You are positively rude, Doctor."