The Doctor smiled, and bent his bushy eyes on the husband and then on the wife.
"It's a peculiar case," he repeated thoughtfully, when they had sat in silence for several moments. "It couldn't be treated in the ordinary way."
"How in the world did you get so much out of her?" Mrs. Tate asked. "She's the shyest little creature."
"I had to work on her sympathies. I got her to crying,—and then, of course, the whole story came out. As you said, she's haunted by the fear of being killed."
"But that's the baby," said Mrs. Tate quickly. "She told me she never had the least fear till her baby was born."
The Doctor lifted his eyebrows. "It's several things," he replied dryly, refusing to take any but the professional view.
Then they discussed the case in all its aspects. The haunting fear Dr. Broughton regarded as the worst feature. "She says when she goes into the ring, that usually leaves her; but if it came back just before she took her plunge it would kill her. The least miscalculation would be likely to make her land on her head in the net, and that would mean a broken neck. It's terrible work,—that. The law ought to put a stop to it."
"The law ought to put a stop to a good many things that it doesn't," Mrs. Tate snapped. "To think that in this age of civilization——"
"There she goes, reforming the world again!" her husband interrupted.
"But if the law doesn't stop it in this case," she went on, "I will."