face and brooding eyes. He looked at me where I stood waiting, ready
dressed for the excursion of the day, and said:

"I'm sorry for all this worry. Catherine gets worse and worse. Her
nerves tear her to pieces."

"She allows them to do so,"--I answered--"And Dr. Brayle allows her
to give them their way."

He shrugged his shoulders.

"You don't like Brayle,"--he said--"But he's clever, and he does his
best."

"To keep his patients,"--I hinted, with a smile.

He turned on his heel and faced me.

"Well now, come!" he said--"Could YOU cure her?"

"I could have cured her in the beginning,"--I replied, "But hardly
now. No one can cure her now but herself."

He paced up and down again.

"She won't be able to go with us to visit Santoris," he said--"I'm
sure of that."

"Shall we put it off?" I suggested.