All the windows in the hall were open and the cold air began to tell on my Southern blood. It grew so cold indeed as to be almost unbearable, and I complained of it to Miss Scott and Miss Ball. But they answered curtly that as I was in a charity place I could not expect much else. All the other women were suffering from the cold, and the nurses themselves had to wear heavy garments to keep themselves warm. I asked if I could go to bed. They said “No!” At last Miss Scott got an old gray shawl, and shaking some of the moths out of it, told me to put it on. “It’s rather a bad-looking shawl,” I said. “Well, some people would get along better if they were not so proud,” said Miss Scott. “People on charity should not expect anything and should not complain.” So I put the moth-eaten shawl, with all its musty smell, around me, and sat down on a wicker chair, wondering what would come next, whether I should freeze to death or survive. My nose was very cold, so I covered up my head and was in a half doze, when the shawl was suddenly jerked from my face and a strange man and Miss Scott stood before me. The man proved to be a doctor, and his first greetings were: “I’ve seen that face before.” “Then you know me?” I asked, with a great show of eagerness that I did not feel. “I think I do. Where did you come from?” “From home.” “Where is home?” “Don’t you know? Cuba.” [Illustration: POSITIVELY DEMENTED.] He then sat down beside me, felt my pulse, and examined my tongue, and at last said: “Tell Miss Scott all about yourself.” “No, I will not. I will not talk with women.” “What do you do in New York?” “Nothing.” “Can you work?” “No, senor.” “Tell me, are you a woman of the town?” “I do not understand you,” I replied, heartily disgusted with him. “I mean have you allowed the men to provide for you and keep you?” I felt like slapping him in the face, but I had to maintain my composure, so I simply said: “I do not know what you are talking about. I always lived at home.” After many more questions, fully as useless and senseless, he left me and began to talk with the nurse. “Positively demented,” he said. “I consider it a hopeless case. She needs to be put where some one will take care of her.” And so I passed my second medical expert. After this, I began to have a smaller regard for the ability of doctors than I ever had before, and a greater one for myself. I felt sure now that no doctor could tell whether people were insane or not, so long as the case was not violent.