Now that she gave up
utterly to her invalidism, he was inclined to question its necessity.
He found that he missed her more than he would have imagined, and his
brief hours at home were dreary by reason of her seclusion.
"Why don't you call in a first-class physician and put Madge under
a thorough course of treatment?" he asked, irritably. "She has no
disease now that I know anything about, and I don't believe it's
necessary that she should remain so weak and lackadaisical."
"We did have our doctor call often, and he said she would outgrow her
troubles if she would take plenty of fresh of fresh air and exercise.
And now she positively refuses to see a physician."
"I wouldn't humor a sick girl's fancies. She needs tonics and a
general building up. With your permission I'll stop on my way downtown
to-morrow and tell Dr. Anderson to call."
Mrs. Muir repeated the conversation to her sister, with the
literalness of which only unimaginative women are capable. Madge
turned her face to the wall, and said, coldly and decisively, "I
refuse to see a physician. I am no longer a child, and my wishes must
be respected." After a moment she added, apologetically: "A doctor
could do me no good. I shall soon be stronger.
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