affections--are passing away from me. All this is dreadful, doctor, when
you come to think of it. I have thought and thought and thought about it,
until it has become perfectly plain to me that I am losing my mind."

Dr. Tolbridge looked into the fire.

"Well," said he, presently, "I am glad to hear it."

Miss Dora sprang to her feet.

"Oh, sit down," said he, "and let me explain myself. My advice is, if you
lose your mind, don't mind the loss. It really will do you good. That
sounds hard and cruel, doesn't it? But wait a bit. It often happens that
the minds of young people are like their first teeth--what are called
milk teeth, you know. These minds and these teeth do very well for a
time, but after a while they become unable to perform the services which
will be demanded of them, and they are shed, or at least they ought to
be. Sometimes, of course, they have to be extracted."

"Nonsense, doctor," said the young lady, smiling in spite of herself,
"you cannot extract a mind."

"Well, perhaps not exactly that," he answered, "but we can help it to be
absorbed and to disappear, and so make a way for the strong, vigorous
mind of maturity, which is certain to succeed it. All this has happened
and is happening to you, Miss Dora. You have lost your milk mind, and the
sooner it is gone the better. You will be delighted with the one that
succeeds it. Now then, can you give me an idea about how angry you are?"

"I am not angry at all," she replied, "but I feel humiliated. You think