on."

"And cannot that something be depressed by misfortune?"

"I did not say I had had any misfortune."

"Nor did I say so. Let us put it this way then--cannot that something be
depressed?"

"To a certain degree, of course. But keep your body in perfect health,
and you ought to be immune from extreme depression. And I believe you
are immune. Frankly, Doctor Meyer Isaacson, I don't think you are right.
I am sure something is out of order in my body. There must be some
pressure somewhere, some obscure derangement of the nerves, something
radically wrong."

"Try another doctor. Try a nerve specialist--a hypnotist, if you like:
Hinton Morris, Scalinger, or Powell Burnham; I fear I cannot help you."

"So it seems."

She got up slowly. And still her movements were careless, but always
full of a grace that was very individual.

"Remember," she said, "that I have spoken to you so frankly in your
capacity as a physician."

"All I hear in this room I forget when I am out of it."

"Truly?" she said.