Her sleep was broken, and she sometimes talked to herself,
whether consciously or unconsciously they did not know. The doctor had
no remedies but tonics--he did not understand the case; but he gently
ventured the opinion that it was mostly a matter of race, that she was
pining because civilisation had been infused into her veins--the old
insufficient theory.
"Stuff and nonsense!" said General Armour, when his wife told him.
"The girl bloomed till Frank came back. God bless my soul! she's falling
in love, and doesn't know what it is."
He was only partly right, perhaps, but he was nearer the truth than the
dealer in quinine and a cheap philosophy of life. "She'll come around
all right, you'll see. Decline--decline be hanged! The girl shall live,
--damn it, she shall!" he blurted out, as his wife's eyes filled with
tears.
Mrs. Lambert was much of the same mind as the general, but went further.
She said to Mrs. Armour that in all her life she had never seen so sweet
a character, so sensitive a mind--a mind whose sorrow was imagination.
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