Vita gazed back languidly into the fresh, wholesome face of the smiling old man. She was so tired. She was weary with thought. She knew that the doctor was making a just complaint. But she knew something more. She knew, half by instinct, the real cause of the trouble of which he was complaining. She smiled up at him in a wan fashion. "I am not as much to blame as you think, doctor dear. You have done, oh, so much for me that I feel I can never be grateful enough. May I sit up?" The doctor summoned the nurse, and Vita was tenderly propped up against a perfect nest of pillows. "That's better. Thank you ever so much. Now I can talk, and--I want to talk." Vita remained silent for some moments in spite of her expressed desire. The medical man watched her closely. She was a mere shadow of what she ought to be. There was a troubled look in her eyes. He felt, somehow he knew, what was coming. It was a request such as he had been forced to deny her so many times before. His smile died out. But Vita's eyes, when she finally turned them on him, were bright with an emotion which seemed at first unwarranted. "Do you know why I can't get well?" she enquired wistfully. "It is not obstinacy. It is not lack of effort. It is because _you_ won't let me. Doctor dear, the time has surely gone by when I may not talk of--that night. You see, you don't understand it--all. My father is dead. I know that. The thought is always with me. But that--that is not all. Everybody here is kindness, kindness itself. Mr. Farlow--Ruxton, all of them. They come here. But they are never allowed to stay. They send me everything which--kindness can dictate. But, under your orders, no one will tell me those things I must know, and I am not permitted to say a word of that which I must tell. Doctor dear, it is _you_ who are to blame. Oh, the worry of it all. It seems to take the very life out of me. I must talk," she went on, with growing excitement. "I must tell him all which he can never learn so long as you keep me silent. Send Ruxton to me, doctor dear, and give us leave to talk as much as we want to, and I promise you you shall not regret it. I--I simply must talk or--or----" But the growing excitement proved too much for her. In her weak state Vita suddenly fell to weeping hysterically. The nurse and doctor leant their energies to calming her, and, by degrees, their efforts were rewarded. But the little man's face was troubled. This was what he feared, dreaded. The moment Vita had calmed again he chided her as he might chide some helpless child, but he registered a mental resolve. Somehow Vita must obtain strength or---- Well, he had done all he knew. He must leave medicine and look to the psychological side. Experiment--he hated experiment at his time of life. But there seemed to be nothing else for it. So he reassured her and gave her the promise she asked.