“Oh! a thousand things, doctor; my health is miserable—at least I sometimes think so; I have pains in the right side—and such flutterings at my heart—and such lassitude—and such headaches—and sleep so miserably—” “Are your pains very severe? are they of a heavy, dull kind, or sharp and darting? and how often do you experience them?” “They are not very constant—no, not constant, certainly, nor very severe—but, doctor, they fill me with apprehensions of future evil. It is not present suffering of which I complain, so much as a fear of worse to come. I dread lest disease should make such progress, unnoticed, that it will be vain to attempt a cure.” And Mrs. Waldorf’s eyes filled with tears at the very thought of her troubles. “You are wise to take it in time,” said Doctor R——. “But tell me more of these symptoms. At what time of the day do you generally feel most indisposed?” “Oh! I can scarcely say. When I wake in the morning, I am always very miserable. My head is full of dull pain, especially about the eyes. My lips are parched; I find it a great exertion to dress myself, and never have the slightest appetite for breakfast.” “Ah! indeed!” mused the doctor, “you breakfast as soon as you arise, I presume. At what hour do you retire?” “We make it a rule to be in bed by twelve, unless we happen to be engaged out, which is but seldom. Waldorf detests parties and late hours. We spend our evenings with music or books, very quietly.” “At what hour do you sup?” “We have nothing like a regular supper, but for mere sociality’s sake we have a tray brought up about ten. I take nothing beyond a bit of chicken or a few oysters, or a slice of cake, and sometimes only a cracker and a glass of wine. You look as if you thought even this were better omitted; but I should scarcely know how to cut off one of my husband’s few social pleasures. He would touch nothing if I did not partake with him. He thinks as ill of suppers as you do.” “I beg your pardon—I interrupted your detail of symptoms to ask these questions as to the evening. You say you have no appetite for breakfast—how long do these feelings of languor and exhaustion continue to trouble you?” “Oh! I generally feel better after a cup of coffee; and after practicing at the harp or the piano-forte for an hour or two, or sometimes three when I have new music, I generally drive out, and perhaps shop a little, or at any rate take a turn into the country for the air, and usually return somewhat refreshed.” “Do you take your airings alone?” “Yes—perforce, almost. There are none of my intimate friends who can go with me. They drive out regularly, and take children with them, or they have other objects; and one cannot ask a mere acquaintance. So I go alone, which is not very exhilarating.” “Your own children are not at home?”