And of what it all meant Miss Quincey had no more idea than the man in the moon, though even the Mad Hatter could have told her.  Her heart went through the same performance a second and a third night, and Miss Quincey said to herself that if it happened again she would have to send for Dr. Cautley.  Nothing would have induced her to see him for a mere trifle, but pride was one thing and prudence was another.

It did happen again, and she sent.

She may have hoped that he would discover something wrong, being dimly conscious that her chance lay there, that suffering constituted the incontestable claim on his sympathy; most distinctly she felt the desire (monstrous of course in a woman of no account) to wear the aureole of pain for its own sake; to walk for a little while in the glory and glamour of death.  She did not want or mean to give any trouble, to be a source of expense; she had saved a little money for the supreme luxury.  But she had hardly entertained the idea for a moment when she dismissed it as selfish.  It was her duty to live, for the sake of St. Sidwell’s and of Mrs. Moon; and she was only calling Dr. Cautley in to help her to do it.  But through it all the feeling uppermost was joy in the certainty that she would see him on an honourable pretext, and would be able to set right that terrible misunderstanding.

She hardly expected him till late in the day; so she was a little startled, when she came in after morning school, to find Mrs. Moon waiting for her at the stairs, quivering with indignation that could have but one cause.

He had lost no time in answering her summons.

The drawing-room door was ajar; the Old Lady closed it mysteriously, and pushed her niece into the bedroom behind.

“Will you tell me the meaning of this? That man has been cooling his heels in there for the last ten minutes, and he says you sent for him.  Is that the case?”

Miss Quincey meekly admitted that it was, and entered upon a vague description of her trouble.

“It’s all capers and nonsense,” said the Old Lady, “there’s nothing the matter with your heart.  You’re just hysterical, and you just want—?”

“I want to know, and Dr. Cautley will tell me.”

“Oh ho!  I daresay he’ll find some mare’s nest fast enough, if you tell him where to look.”

Miss Quincey took off her hat and cape and laid them down with a sigh.  She gave a terrified glance at the looking-glass and smoothed her thin hair with her hand.

“Auntie—­I must go.  I can’t keep him waiting any longer.”

“Go then—­I won’t stop you.”

She went trembling, followed so closely by Mrs. Moon that she looked like a prisoner conducted to the dock.

“How will he receive me?” she wondered.