“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 my mental sufferings are all fanciful.”

“Oh, no,” said the doctor; “to continue the dental simile, they are the last aches of your youthful mentality, forced to make way for the intellect of a woman.”

Miss Bannister looked out of the window for a few moments.

“Doctor,” she then said, “I do not believe there is any one else who knows me, who would tell me that I have the mind of a child.”

“Oh, no,” replied Dr. Tolbridge, “for it is not likely that there is any one else to whom you have made the fact known.”

There was a quick flush on the face of Miss Dora, and a flash in her blue eyes, and she reached out her hand toward her muff which lay on the table beside her, but she changed her purpose and drew back her hand.  The doctor looked at her with a smile.

“You were just on the point of jumping up and leaving the room without a word, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I was,” said she, “and I have a great mind to do it now, but first I must—­”

“Miss Dora,” said the doctor, “I am delighted.  Actually you are cutting your new mind.  Before you can realize the fact, you will have it all full-formed and ready for use.  Let me see; this is the ninth of March; bad roads; bad weather; no walking; no driving; nothing inspiriting; disagreeable in doors and out.  I think the full change will occur within three weeks.  By the end of this month, you will not only have forgotten that your milk mind has troubled you, but that the world was ever blank, and that your joys and affections were ever on the point of passing away from you.  You will then be the brave-hearted, bright-spirited woman that Nature intended you to be, after she had passed you through some of the preliminary stages.”

The flush on the face of Miss Dora gradually passed away as she listened to this speech.

She rose.  “Doctor,” said she, “I like that better than what you have been saying.  Anyway, I shall not be angry, and I shall wait three weeks and see what happens, and if everything is all wrong then, the responsibility will rest on you.”

“Very good,” said he, “I agree to the terms.  It is a bargain.”

Now Miss Dora seemed troubled again.  She took up her muff, put it down, drew her furs about her, then let them fall again, and finally turned toward the physician, who had also risen.

“Doctor,” she said, “I don’t want you to put this visit in the family bill.  I wish to—­to attend to it myself.  How much should I pay you?” and she took out her little pocketbook.