"You sit alone too much," he said quietly; "it is not good for you. You must give it up, or you will break down altogether."
"Forgive me," said Agnes, trying to choke back the sobs. "I am weak and miserable, and cannot help it. I did not mean to cry now."
"You are alone too much," repeated the Doctor; "it won't do. You think too much of the past, and despond too much in the present. That won't do either. You must give it up."
His calm, authoritative tone soothed her somehow. The tears fell less hotly, and she lifted her poor, pale face.
"I am very foolish, but it is my birthday, and I could not help—"
She broke down again.
"It all comes of being so much alone," repeated Doctor Frank. "It won't do. Agnes, how often must I tell you so? Do you know what they say of you in the house?"
"No," looking up in quick alarm.
"They accuse you of having something on your mind. The servants look at you with suspicion, and it all comes of your love of solitude, your silence and sadness. Give it up, Agnes, give it up."
"Doctor Danton," she cried, piteously, "what can I do? I am the most unhappy woman in all the world. What can I do?"