"Nothing--you say there is nothing the matter with me!"

"I have examined you, and that is my opinion."

The face of the patient flushed with indignation at this insult.

"I came to you to be told what was the matter."

"And I am glad to inform you nothing is the matter--with your body."

"Do you mean to imply that my mind is diseased?"

"No. But you don't give it enough to think about. You only give it
yourself. And that isn't nearly enough."

Sir Henry rose, and put a trembling finger into his waistcoat-pocket.

"I believe I owe you--?"

"Nothing. But if you care to put something into the box on my hall
table, you will help some poor man to get away to the seaside after an
operation, and find out what is the best medicine in the world."

"And now for Mrs. Chepstow!" the Doctor murmured to himself, as the door
closed behind the outraged back of an enemy.

He sat still for a minute or two, expecting to see the door open again,
the form of a woman framed in the doorway. But no one came. He began to
feel restless. He was not accustomed to be kept waiting by his patients,
although he often kept them waiting. There was a bell close to his