“My poor Dr. Kantripp,” said Charlot, “you don’t know her usual self.”
“She’s pretty grim even when at her jolliest, poor Violet,” said Lord Charles gloomily.
“Has there ever been any trouble?” asked Dr. Kantripp delicately. “Up aloft, you know? Hysteria and so forth?”
“We’ve always considered her a little odd,” said Lord Charles.
“A little, Daddy,” said Frid. “My dears, let’s face it, she’s ga-ga. You know she is, Daddy. What about that nursing-home she used to whizz off to?”
“An occasional crise-de-nerfs,” Lord Charles muttered.
“She’s seen an alienist?”
“Yes, yes, I think so. Not for some time, though. She became a Christian Scientist about five years ago and I daresay my brother hoped that would help. But it didn’t last very long and lately she’s been tremendously taken up with some kind of occultism.”
“Black magic,” said Frid. “She’s a witch.”
“Dear me!” said Dr. Kantripp mildly. “Well,” he added, I’ve suggested that she should see her own doctor.”