"As I tell her continually," rejoined Lady Harriet, inwardly smiling at his quaint phrases.
"What illness she has, rests on the nerves," proceeded the doctor. "A little on the mind. The earliest day I saw her I asked whether she did have one great shock, or trouble: you remember, do you not, madame?"
"But—good gracious!—one ought not to give way for ever to any shock or trouble—even if one has had such a thing," remonstrated Lady Harriet.
"As I say. Can anything be more clear? Miladi has nothing to make her ill, and yet miladi sits there, ill, day after day. You hear, madame?" turning to Adela.
"Oh yes, I hear," she gently answered, lifting her wan but still lovely face for a moment and then letting it droop again.
"And it is time to end this state of things," resumed the doctor to Lady Harriet. "It must be finished, madame."
"It ought to be," acquiesced Lady Harriet. "But if she does not end it herself, how are we to do it?"
"You go out, madame, with monsieur, your husband, into a little society: is it not so?" spoke the doctor, after a pause of consideration, during which he stroked his face with his gloved hand.
"Of course we do, Monsieur Féron; we are not hermits, and Paris is gay just now," quickly answered Lady Harriet. "We go to the Blunts' tonight."
"Then take her at once also; take her with you. That may be tried. If it has no result, truly I shall not know what to propose. Drugs are hopeless in a case like this," added the doctor, as he made two elaborate bows, one to each lady, and went out.