“Dr. Lamour says that the dark circles disappear, anyway,” said the girl, unconvinced.  “Cold-cream had nothing to do with it.”

“But it did!  Really it did.  And as for the other symptoms, I—­well, I can’t help my pulses when y-you t-t-touch me.”

“Please, Mr. Carden.”

“I don’t mean to be impertinent.  I am trying my hardest to tell the truth.  And my pulses do gallop when you test them; they’re galloping now!  This very moment!”

“Let me try them,” she said coolly, laying her hand on his wrist.

“Didn’t I say so!” he insisted grimly.  “And I’m turning red, too.  But those symptoms mean something else; they mean you!”

“Mr. Carden!”

“I can’t help saying so—­”

“I know it,” she said soothingly; “these sentimental outbursts are part of the disease—­”

“Good Heavens! Won’t you try to believe me!  There’s nothing in the world the matter with me except that I am—­am—­p-p-perfectly f-f-fascinated—­”

“You must struggle against it, Mr. Carden.  That is only part of the—­”

“It isn’t!  It isn’t!  It’s you!  It’s your mere presence, your personality, your charm, your beauty, your loveliness, your—­”

“Mr. Carden, I beg of you!  I—­it is part of my duty to observe symptoms, but—­but you are making it very hard for me—­very difficult—­”

“I am only proving to you that it isn’t Lamour’s Disease which does stunts with my pulses, my temperature, my color.  I’m not morbid except when I realize my deception.  I’m not depressed except when I think how far you are from me—­how far above me—­how far out of reach of such a man as I am—­how desperately I—­I—­”

“D-don’t you think I had better administer a s-s-sedative, Mr. Carden?” she said, distressed.

“I don’t care.  I’ll take anything you give me—­as long as you give it to me.  I’ll swallow pint after pint of pills!  I’ll fletcherize ’em!  I’ll luxuriate in poison—­anything—­”

She was hastily running through the pages of the ninth volume to see whether the symptoms of sentimental excitement ever turned into frenzy.

“What can you learn from that book?” he insisted, leaning forward to see what she was reading.  “Anyway, Dr. Lamour married his patient so early in the game that all the symptoms disappeared.  And I believe the trouble with his patient was my trouble.  She had every symptom of it until he married her!  She was in love with him, that is absolutely all!”

Rosalind Hollis raised her beautiful, incredulous eyes.

“What do you mean, Mr. Carden?”

“I mean that, in my opinion, there’s no such disease as Lamour’s Disease.  That young girl was in love with him.  Then he married her at last, and—­presto!—­all the symptoms vanished—­the pulse, the temperature, the fidgets, the blushes, the moods, the whole business!”

“W-what about the strangely curious manifestations of physical beauty—­superhuman symmetry, Mr. Carden?”