"I do not need one. I do not, indeed, Elsie, I assure you."
"You are mistaken," I said, coldly. "I insist upon sending for Dr. White. Perhaps you will allow me to have my own way for once."
He looked at me reproachfully. I felt guilty—as though I were hitting a man when he was down. Dr. White came. He said that Arthur must have been subjected to some long-continued mental anxiety, and that he needed careful nursing. I was not to be unnecessarily alarmed if at times he had hallucinations, such as imagining himself surrounded by enemies, or suspecting that people were plotting to do him harm. His nervous system was run down.
"Your husband has not been living as quietly as he might have done, I infer, Mrs. Ravener?" Dr. White asked rather hesitatingly.
I crimsoned. How could I tell this man that my husband's pursuits were unknown to me? He noticed my confusion.
"Dr. White," I said at last, deliberately, resolved to tell as much as I could, "I see no use in concealment. A medical man must
