The lady rose and followed him. All the patients watched her with the same kind of curiosity as is shown by those waiting to be tried towards the man who is called to the honours of the dock. They observed that she was strangely agitated; that she walked with some difficulty; that she tottered as she went; that her lips trembled, and her hands shook. "Locomotor ataxis," whispered one. "I myself----" "Or perhaps a break-up of the nervous system. It is my own----" But the door was shut, and the patients in waiting relapsed into silence. The lady followed the manservant, who placed a chair for her and withdrew. Instead of sitting down, the patient stepped forward, and gazed into the doctor's face. Then she clasped her hands. "Thank God," she cried; "he is the man!" "I do not understand, madam. I see so many faces. The name--is it an American name?" "You think of my husband. But I am English-born, and so is he." "Well, Mrs. Haveril, even the richest of us get our little disorders. What is yours?" "I have been very ill, doctor; but it was not for that that I came here." "Then, madam, I do not understand why you do come here." "You don't remember me? But I see that you don't." Her trembling ceased when she began to speak. "Yet I remember you very well. You have changed very little in four and twenty years." "Indeed?" "I heard some people at the hotel talking about you. They said you were the first man in the world for some complaints. And I remembered your name, and--and--I wondered if you were the man. And you are the man." "This is a very busy morning, madam. If you would kindly come to the point at once. What do you want with me?" "Doctor, I once had a child--a boy--the finest boy you ever saw." "It is not unusual," the doctor began, but stopped, because the woman's face was filled with a great trouble. "But pray go on, madam." "I had a boy," she repeated, and burst into a flood of tears. The doctor inclined his head. There is no other answer possible when a complete stranger bursts into tears from some unknown cause. "I lost the boy," she proceeded. "I--I--I lost the boy." "He died?" She shook her head. "No. But I lost my boy," she repeated. "My husband deserted me. I was alone in a strange town. My relations had cast me off because I married an actor. I was penniless, and I could find no work. I sold the boy to save him from the workhouse, and to get the money to follow my husband." "Good Heavens! I remember! It was at Birmingham. Your husband's name was--was----?" "His professional name was Anthony." "True--true. I remember it all. Yes--yes. The child was taken by a lady. I remember it perfectly. And you are the deserted wife, and the rich American is your husband?"