think you could cut anything with them. I was going to ask--how is
your niece to-day? I trust the hysterical condition is passing away?"

Miss Vesta sighed. "Yes, Doctor Strong," she said. "Vesta is quiet
again, oh, yes, very quiet, and sleeping better; we are very grateful
for your interest in her."

A few professional questions and answers followed. There were no
acute or alarming symptoms. There was little to do for the girl,
except to let her rest and "come round;" she would recover in time,
but it might be a long time. Geoffrey felt somehow younger than he
had; neurasthenia was a pretty word on paper, but he did not feel so
sure about making a specialty of it.

Miss Vesta fluttered about her lamp; he became conscious that she
wanted to say something to him. She began with sundry little
plaintive murmurings, which might have been addressed to him or to
the lamp.

"Pity! pity! yes, indeed. So bright and young, so full of hope and
joy, and darkened so soon. Yes, indeed, very sad!"

Geoffrey helped her. "What is it, Miss Vesta?" he asked, tenderly.
"You are going to tell me something."

Miss Vesta looked around her timidly. "Sister Phoebe did not wish me
to mention it," she said, in a low tone. "She thinks it--indelicate.
But--you are so kind, Doctor Strong, and you are a physician. Poor
little Vesta has had a disappointment, a cruel disappointment."