“Who is it?” I enquired, as Joseph came to the sitting-room.
“Mrs. Wallingford.”
My wife and I exchanged glances. She looking grave and curious; but no remark was made.
“Good-evening, Mrs. Wallingford,” said I, on entering my office. “This is a very bad night for a lady to come out. I hope no one is seriously ill.”
“I wish you would come over and see our Henry, Doctor.”
There was a choking tremor in her voice; and as I looked in her face, I saw that it was pale and distressed.
“What's the matter?” I inquired.
“I can't say what it is, Doctor. Something's wrong. I'm afraid—yes, I'm afraid he's going out of his senses.”
And she wrung her hands together with a nervous uneasiness in singular contrast with her usual quiet exterior.
“How is he affected?”