Chapter Eight.
What Happened to me.
“Do you consider love an ailment?” I asked, looking at her in quick surprise.
“In many cases,” she responded in a serious tone. “I fear I am no exception to the general rule,” she added meaningly.
Those words amounted to the admission that she had a lover, and I regarded her with considerable astonishment. She was a smart woman. I could only suppose that she and her husband were an ill-assorted pair. Possibly she had married for money, and was now filled with regret, as, alas! is so frequently the case.
“You appear unhappy,” I observed in a sympathetic tone, for my curiosity had been aroused by her words.
“Yes, Doctor,” she answered in a low, intense voice, toying nervously with her fine rings. “To tell the truth, I am most unhappy. I have come up to town to consult you, unknown to my husband, for I have heard that you make the treatment of nervous disorders your speciality.”
“And by whom was I recommended to you?” I inquired, somewhat interested in this new and entirely undeserved fame which I had apparently achieved.