She sent her out for gin on one pretext or another,
although the woman was not deceived for a moment; she had "seen how
it was" long since. But she was middle-aged, Irish, and sympathetic.
If the poor lady had sorrows let her drown them.
Madeleine was more wary this time. She told her husband she was
determined to take her potions only at noon and at night; in the
daytime she restrained herself after four o'clock, although she took
enough to keep up her spirits at the dinner-table to which she had
thought it best to return.
The doctor, thankful, no longer neglected his practice, and left
immediately after dinner for the Club as she went to her room at once
and locked the door. There was no doubt of her hostility, but that,
too, was not unnatural, and he was content to wait.
Society returned to town, but she flatly refused to enter it. Nor
would she receive any one who called. The doctor remonstrated in
vain. He trusted her perfectly and a glass of champagne at dinner
would not hurt her. If she expected to become quite herself again she
must have diversions. She was leading an unnatural life.
She deigned no answer.
He warned her that tongues would wag. He had met several of the
women during the summer and told them her lungs were healed...
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