"You're so faithless about pills," he said, "that I'm not going to give you any."
"What! no pills?" said Miss Harriet.
William King laughed awkwardly. "Not a pill! I don't see any condition which warrants them: but—"
"What did I tell you? There's nothing the matter, and you just dragged me here to give your office a busy look."
"I didn't suppose you'd see through it," said Willy King. "But, Miss Harriet, I—I don't feel quite satisfied. I—do you know I've a great mind to get a man in Mercer to look you over? I want you to go up with me to-morrow and see him."
"Nonsense!"
"No, truly," he said; "I am not satisfied, Miss Harriet."
"But what do you mean?" she insisted, sharply. "There's nothing the matter with me. You said yourself I didn't need any medicine. Give me some opiate to stop this—this discomfort when it comes on, and I'll be all right."
"You can't bear opiates," he said, bluntly; "your heart won't stand them. Don't you remember the time you broke your ankle and I tried morphine—a baby dose—to give you some relief? You gave me a scare, I can tell you."
Miss Harriet was silent. Then: "I've known my heart wasn't right for two years. But—"