"I am honoured by your friendship," I replied. "And if I can, at any time, do anything to assist you in this mental trouble of yours, I will do it with pleasure." I had, during our conversation, been attracted by her frankness of manner and the evident sorrow which weighed so heavily upon her. She had confessed to me, and we had now become friends. My position was a curious one: the adviser of a woman who was wearing out her heart for her husband's love. It was not altogether devoid of danger either, for her ladyship was an exceedingly attractive woman. I had written the prescription and handed it to her, but, apparently in no mood to allow me to go, she did not rise. While I had been busily writing at the little escritoire her manner had apparently changed, for she was no longer the serious, nervous woman of ten minutes before, but quite gay and vivacious, with a look of triumph in her fine, dark eyes. "I am very glad, Doctor Colkirk, that you have promised to assist me," she said, laughing merrily and stretching out her tiny foot from beneath the hem of her skirt with a distinct air of coquetry. "I feel sure that we shall be excellent friends." "I hope so," I replied. "But you must be careful of your general health, and persevere with the treatment." "I don't care much for chemists' concoctions," she laughed. "It's very good of you to have given me this prescription, but I don't propose to make use of it." "Why not?" I inquired in quick surprise. "Because I only described to you imaginary symptoms," she laughed mischievously. "I enjoy a glass of port immensely after dinner, but further than that never touch stimulants, nor have any inclination for them." "So you have deceived me," I said severely, for it seemed as though she wished to poke fun at me. "Yes. But I hope you will forgive me," she answered, laughing. "I cannot see what motive you can have in calling me in to describe a malady from which you are not suffering. A doctor's time is valuable." "I had a motive." "And pray what was it?" "Well, I wished to make your acquaintance," she answered boldly, without hesitation. "You adopted a rather unusual course," I remarked, somewhat annoyed. "I think, under the circumstances, this little ruse of mine may possibly be forgiven," she answered. "I am not the first woman who has called in a doctor professionally merely in order to make his acquaintance." "And for what reason did you wish to know me?" "I trust you are not annoyed with me?" she exclaimed. "You must admit that I acted the part of the nervous woman so well that even you, a medical man, were, deceived." "I admit that you have taken an unfair advantage of me," I answered calmly, wondering why she should thus have sought my acquaintance. "But you will forgive me, Doctor, won't you?" she urged. "If you will tell me the reason you were so desirous of meeting me." "I wanted to know you." "Why?"