I put to her a number of questions which it is unnecessary here to recount, and found her exactly as I had supposed--a bundle of nerves. "But this unaccountable craving for stimulants is most remarkable," she went on. "I am naturally a most temperate woman, but nowadays I feel that I cannot live without having recourse to brandy or some other spirit." "Sometimes you feel quite well and strong, then suddenly you experience a sensation of being extremely ill?" I suggested. "Exactly. How do you account for it?" "The feeling of strength and vigour is not necessarily the outcome of actual strength, any more than is the feeling of weakness the necessary outcome of actual weakness," I responded. "A person may be weak to a degree, and the sands of life be almost run out, and yet feel overwhelmingly strong and exuberantly happy, and, on the other hand, when in sound and vigorous health, he may feel exhausted and depressed. Feelings, especially so with women of the better class, rise into being in connexion with the nervous system. Whether a person feels well or ill depends upon the structure of his nervous system and the way in which it is played upon, for, like a musical instrument, it may be made to give forth gay music or sad." "But is not my case remarkable?" she asked. "Not at all," I responded. "Then you think that you can treat me, and prevent me from becoming a dipsomaniac?" she said eagerly. "Certainly," I replied. "I have no doubt that this craving can be removed by proper treatment. I will write you a prescription." "Ah?" she exclaimed, with a sigh. "You doctors, with your serums and the like, can nowadays inoculate against almost every disease. Would that you could give us women an immune from that deadly ailment so common among my sex, and so very often fatal." "What ailment?" I asked, rather surprised at her sudden and impetuous speech. "That of love!" she responded in a low, strained voice--the voice of a woman desperate. CHAPTER EIGHT. WHAT HAPPENED TO ME. "Do you consider love an ailment?" I asked, looking at her in quick surprise. "In many cases," she responded in a serious tone. "I fear I am no exception to the general rule," she added meaningly. Those words amounted to the admission that she had a lover, and I regarded her with considerable astonishment. She was a smart woman. I could only suppose that she and her husband were an ill-assorted pair. Possibly she had married for money, and was now filled with regret, as, alas! is so frequently the case. "You appear unhappy," I observed in a sympathetic tone, for my curiosity had been aroused by her words. "Yes, Doctor," she answered in a low, intense voice, toying nervously with her fine rings. "To tell the truth, I am most unhappy. I have come up to town to consult you, unknown to my husband, for I have heard that you make the treatment of nervous disorders your speciality."