To which I should have replied that there is no such thing as falling in love at first sight,—­that the very expression—­’falling in love’—­conveys a false idea, and that what the world generally calls ‘love’ is not love at all.  Moreover, there was nothing in my heart or mind with regard to Rafel Santoris save a keen interest and sense of friendship.  I was sure that his beliefs were the same as mine, and that he had been working along the same lines which I had endeavoured to follow; and just as two musicians, inspired by a mutual love of their art, may be glad to play their instruments together in time and tune, even so I felt that he and I had met on a plane of thought where we had both for a long time been separately wandering.

The ‘Dream’ yacht, with its white sails spread ready for a cruise, was as beautiful by day in the sunshine under a blue sky as by night with its own electric radiance flashing its outline against the stars, and I was eager to be on board.  We were, however, delayed by an ‘attack of nerves’ on the part of Catherine, who during the morning was seized with a violent fit of hysteria to which she completely gave way, sobbing, laughing and gasping for breath in a manner which showed her to be quite unhinged and swept from self-control.  Dr. Brayle took her at once in charge, while Mr. Harland fumed and fretted, pacing up and down in the saloon with an angry face and brooding eyes.  He looked at me where I stood waiting, ready dressed for the excursion of the day, and said: 

“I’m sorry for all this worry.  Catherine gets worse and worse.  Her nerves tear her to pieces.”

“She allows them to do so,”—­I answered—­“And Dr. Brayle allows her to give them their way.”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“You don’t like Brayle,”—­he said—­“But he’s clever, and he does his best.”

“To keep his patients,”—­I hinted, with a smile.

He turned on his heel and faced me.

“Well now, come!” he said—­“Could you cure her?”

“I could have cured her in the beginning,”—­I replied, “But hardly now.  No one can cure her now but herself.”

He paced up and down again.

“She won’t be able to go with us to visit Santoris,” he said—­“I’m sure of that.”

“Shall we put it off?” I suggested.

His eyebrows went up in surprise at me.

“Why no, certainly not.  It will be a change for you and a pleasure of which I would not deprive you.  Besides, I want to go myself.  But Catherine—­”

Dr. Brayle here entered the saloon with his softest step and most professional manner.

“Miss Harland is better now,”—­he said—­“She will be quite calm in a few minutes.  But she must remain quiet.  It will not be safe for her to attempt any excursion today.”

“Well, that need not prevent the rest of us from going.”—­said Mr. Harland.

“Oh no, certainly not!  In fact, Miss Harland said she hoped you would go, and make her excuses to Mr. Santoris.  I shall, of course, be in attendance on her.”