He made me take the most perfectly beastly doses—and I just believe he did it to be spiteful—and wouldn't let me eat any of the things I like, and in three days he insisted I was better! You can imagine how mad that made me—I never in my life got over the most trifling ailment inside of a week at the shortest. I told him I thought I knew how I felt better than he did and I was not any better. I think that woke him up a little. Anyway, I made up my mind I would get even with him some way, so I just stopped taking his old medicines and doing one thing he told me! Of course I didn't mention anything about this to Henry, for I knew perfectly well he would take the doctor's part—Henry has a way of always taking sides against me. So I let Dr. Trowbridge come in the morning and I have some one else come in the afternoon. . . .
This is the way I arrange:—In the first place, you recollect that stunningly handsome young doctor Williams? . . . Why, yes, you do remember him two years ago at the beach—how he used to tear along in his auto with his hat off and the wind blowing through his curls? . . . Of course you do—the girls were all wild about him. I happened to think how clever he was—Mabel Preston told me of the wonderful way he removed a splinter from her finger. She sort of cried, and he comforted her so nicely she said she wished she could get her fingers full of things every day in the year if Dr. Williams was around to get them out.
I called him up on the 'phone, and told him my case was urgent, so in about half an hour up he came—in his automobile, too. My dear, if you think he's good-looking at a distance you ought to see him near to! Such eyes—all dreamy and far-away and romantic. I wonder why just ordinary business men get to look so prosaic and dull, as though life wasn't worth living at times. I've noticed Henry is beginning to have that look lately.
Well, the moment I saw him I knew instinctively he would understand my case without any difficulty. He stayed about an hour. I hate a doctor who rushes in and rushes out before you have half a chance to tell him how you feel. Dr. Williams seemed to think my trouble was more serious than mere bodily ailment—he said that I required to be properly understood—my constitution was such that I needed sympathy more than medicine. And that's perfectly true; when I have my own way and what I want I'm not the same person! Cross me and there you are!
I can't tell you how much better I am when he is here, and then when he goes I feel all down again. We have the loveliest talks—not about common things most people talk to you of, but about your soul and your better self and being noble and unselfish and things, don't you know, you never bother about ordinarily. And he's just crazy over the theatre, the same as I am, and he knows several actresses, and once when one of them fainted on the stage—I don't remember that he mentioned her name, but I know she was well known—he went back of the scenes and revived her, and when she came to she looked straight at him and said, "Where am I?"
Oh yes, Dr. Williams comprehends my difficulty as no one else ever did. Why, the
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Something he called sterilized Welsh rarebits
minute he takes my hand I feel so different. And he doesn't make me diet or do anything I don't like—he says I won't be a bit worse off if I do just as I please. He is so delightful I often forget he is a doctor and only think of him as a man. And, my dear, when I told him sometimes I wasn't hungry he asked for a chafing-dish and things, and made the loveliest mess—something he called sterilized Welsh rarebits—you know that's not a bit like a doctor.
Yesterday afternoon I ate two, and Henry was worried to death because I didn't eat any dinner. I nearly laughed myself into hysterics—if he only knew. And then I got so depressed and heavy I hardly slept all night—if I laugh much all at once it always upsets me.
. . . My dear, there's the bell—I promised to tell you the moment you began to tire me—you know what I mean—your talking tire me—not you. Besides, I think that's Dr. Williams. Perhaps you'll stay some other time and meet him.—Marie—Marie—quick, bring the rose-shaded lamp from my room and put it on the table by me, and bring my deep-pink powder—the hard kind I put on with the little calvesfoot.—Hurry! Good-by, dear. Come again soon, when I am feeling stronger and can talk a little more!
