She found herself lying in a deep arm-chair in the library, when she was aware of Dr. Lacy pausing at the door and looking tentatively in upon her.

“Come in, doctor,” she said, and she knew that her face was wet with tears, and that she spoke with the voice of weeping.

He came forward and looked narrowly at her, without sitting down.  “There’s nothing to be alarmed about, Miss Bessie,” he said.  “But I think your brother had better leave home again, for a while.”

“Yes,” she said, blankly.  Her mind was not on his words.

“I will make the arrangements.”

“Thank you,” said Bessie, listlessly.

The doctor had made a step backward, as if he were going away, and now he stopped.  “Aren’t you feeling quite well, Miss Bessie?”

“Oh yes,” she said, and she began to cry.

The doctor came forward and said, cheerily:  “Let me see.”  He pulled a chair up to hers, and took her wrist between his fingers.  “If you were at Mrs. Enderby’s last night, you’ll need another night to put you just right.  But you’re pretty well as it is.”  He let her wrist softly go, and said:  “You mustn’t distress yourself about your brother’s case.  Of course, it’s hard to have it happen now after he’s held up so long; longer than it has been before, I think, isn’t it?  But it’s something that it has been so long.  The next time, let us hope, it will be longer still.”

The doctor made as if to rise.  Bessie put her hand out to stay him.  “What is it makes him do it?”

“Ah, that’s a great mystery,” said the doctor.  “I suppose you might say the excitement.”

“Yes!”

“But it seems to me very often, in such cases, as if it were to escape the excitement.  I think you’re both keyed up pretty sharply by nature, Miss Bessie,” said the doctor, with the personal kindness he felt for the girl, and the pity softening his scientific spirit.

“I know!” she answered.  “We’re alike.  Why don’t I take to drinking, too?”

The doctor laughed at such a question from a young lady, but with an inner seriousness in his laugh, as if, coming from a patient, it was to be weighed.  “Well, I suppose it isn’t the habit of your sex, Miss Bessie.”

“Sometimes it is.  Sometimes women get drunk, and then I think they do less harm than if they did other things to get away from the excitement.”  She longed to confide in him; the words were on her tongue; she believed he could help her, tell her what to do; out of his stores of knowledge and experience he must have some suggestion, some remedy; he could advise her; he could stand her friend, so far.  People told their doctors all kinds of things, silly things.  Why should she not tell her doctor this?