Part 19 (1/2)
”You are an awful girl not to tell me before. How could you be in the house since yesterday and not say anything? I suppose Harold Wainwright is the man, but I don't much care who he is. You are a provoking creature,” and she emphasized her remarks by throwing another cus.h.i.+on which hit wide of the mark, and sent some books spinning off the library table onto the floor.
Marion was over her depression now, and, jumping up, she threw her arms about Florence and kissed her, saying: ”Sit down, dear, and tell me all about it. When did it happen? When is it going to be announced? When are you going to be married? I always felt you would marry him. Who are you going to have for bridesmaids?”
Florence laughed at Marion's mult.i.tude of questions. ”You dear girl,”
she said, kissing her, ”I am glad I made you smile again; but I can answer only one of those questions. It happened last Sunday at Fairville.”
”And you didn't tell me until now! O, I will pay you up for this. But come, let's talk it all over and decide about the wedding and the bridesmaids.”
A servant entered the room and announced ”Dr. Maccanfrae.” Marion and Florence hurriedly a.s.sumed different positions and adjusted their ruffled hair. Then the kind face of the philanthropic physician appeared in the doorway.
”How do I find my patient this morning?” said the Doctor, coming toward the window where they were seated.
”Better, I hope,” said Florence, turning round.
”Miss Moreland!” exclaimed the Doctor in astonishment. ”I thought you were somewhere in the White Mountains.”
”No; I came back yesterday,” she continued as he shook her hand. ”I thought you needed a nurse for your patient.”
”Nurse and remedy combined, for you are the best cure I could prescribe for Mrs. Sanderson.”
”You are very flattering, Doctor. Under your advice I shall try to do my best, but, if you will excuse me, I shall run away and do some unpacking.” Saying this, Florence left her seat, and, bidding the Doctor good-by, walked toward the door. As she was leaving the room she called to him, asking when he would give her another lecture on pantheism.
”I fear if I do I shall have to suffer for the sin of corrupting the heart of a Puritan,” said the Doctor.
”A Puritan is always fortified against Satan's wiles,” she answered laughingly, as she stopped in the doorway, ”and, besides, my grandfathers, for six generations, were ministers.”
”A case of the transmission of the original sin, I suppose,” answered the Doctor, as she retired through the door. ”And how is my patient to-day?” he repeated, as Florence's laughter died away and her steps were heard hurrying up the stairs.
”I don't think I am a bit better,” said Marion somewhat mournfully, having relapsed into her former state in the presence of the Doctor.
After adjusting the cloth on her aching head, she continued: ”I have no animation or ambition; I have these frightful nervous pains and headaches; my appet.i.te is all gone; nothing seems to amuse me any more, and I lie here all day long feeling utterly wretched. In the evening I manage to develop animation enough to take me out, and, for a while, I forget myself, but when it is over I feel worse than ever. Oh, Doctor, what is the matter with me?”
Dr. Maccanfrae looked at Marion a moment as though hesitating to answer her question, then, feeling her pulse, he replied: ”Mrs. Sanderson, there is nothing the matter with you.”
”What do you mean, Doctor?” said Marion somewhat angrily. ”Do you suppose I don't know how I feel?”
”When I say there is nothing the matter with you, I mean you have no organic disease. You are simply suffering from the fas.h.i.+onable complaint of nervous depression, or neurasthenia, as we physicians call it. Almost every woman in your station in life has it sooner or later. It is nothing but a symptom, but it may grow into a great many worse things.”
”Well, why don't you cure me then, if it is nothing?” remarked Marion in a provoked manner.
The Doctor looked at her a moment; then he asked slowly, but with an emphasis which seemed to carry a hidden meaning: ”Do you want to get well, Mrs. Sanderson?”
Marion looked up somewhat startled. ”Why do you ask such a question?”
she replied.
”Because you produced the disease yourself, and you alone can cure it.”
”You are positively rude, Doctor.”
”I know I should ask pardon for my brusqueness, but I am your physician, and I desire to see you well again. The only way that can be accomplished is for you to take the case in your own hands.”
”I don't understand, Doctor.”