"
"No," assented the other. "No. How do you explain it, doctor?"
Jenkinson sat down, and for a moment studied the pattern of the
carpet.
"Frankly, Mr. Royce," he said at last, "I don't know how to explain
it. The most probable explanation is that Miss Holladay is suffering
from some form of dementia--perhaps only acute primary dementia, which
is usually merely temporary--but which may easily grow serious, and
even become permanent."
The theory had occurred to me, and I saw from the expression of Mr.
Royce's face that he, also, had thought of it.
"Is there no way that we can make sure?" he asked. "She may need to
be saved from herself."
"She may need it very badly," agreed the doctor, nodding. "Yet, she is
of legal age, and absolute mistress of her actions. There are no
relatives to interfere--no intimate friends, even, that I know of. I
see no way unless you, as her legal adviser, apply to the authorities
for an inquest of lunacy."
But Mr. Royce made an instant gesture of repugnance.
"Oh, that's absurd!" he cried. "We have no possible reason to take
such action. It would offend her mortally."
"No doubt," assented the other. "So I fear that at present nothing can
be done--things will just have to take their course till something
more decided happens."
"There's no tendency to mental disease in the family?" inquired Mr.
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