But you and I would be of no
use in that kind of thing."
"I don't take to new-fangled ideas of mental cure," said the ship's
doctor. "Cure the body and the mind will cure itself."
A cold smile stole to the lips of the resident doctor. Those were days
of little scientific medical skill, and no West Indian doctor had
knowledge enough to control a discussion of the kind. "But I'd like to
see some one with brains take an interest in her," he remarked.
"I leave her in your hands," was the reply. "I'm a ship's medico, and
she's now ashore."
"It's a pity," said the resident doctor reflectively, as he watched a
servant doing necessary work at the bedside. "She hasn't long to go as
she is, yet I've seen such cases recover."
As they left the room together they met Sheila and one of the daughters
of the house. "I've come to see the sick woman from the ship, if I may,"
Sheila said. "I've just heard about her, and I'd like to be of use."
The resident doctor looked at her with admiration. She was the most
conspicuous figure in the island, and her beauty was a fine support to
her wealth and reputation.
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