"
Suddenly there shot into the greenish old eyes a reddish look of rage;
jealousy, horrible, gruesome jealousy, took possession of Joel Mazarine.
This young man to come in and go out of his wife's bedroom, to--Why
weren't there women doctors? He would get one over from the Coast, or
from Winnipeg, or else there was old Doctor Gensing, in Askatoon--who was
seventy-five at least. He would call him in and get rid of this offensive
young pill-maker.
"I don't believe there's anything the matter with her," he declared
stubbornly. "She's been healthy as a woman can be, living this life here.
What's her disease? I've asked you. What is it?"
The other laid a hand on himself, and in the colourless voice of the
expert, said: "Old age--that's her trouble, so far as I can see."
He paused, foreseeing the ferocious look which swept into the repulsive
face, and the clenching of the big hands. Then in a soothing, reflective
kind of voice he added:
"Senile decay--you know all about that. Well, now, it happens sometimes
--not often, but it does happen--that a very young person for some cause
or another suffers from senile decay. Some terrible leakage of youth
occurs. It has been cured, though, and I've cured one or two cases
myself."
He was almost prevaricating--but in a good cause. "Mrs. Mazarine's is a
case which can be cured, I think," he continued. "As you've remarked, Mr.
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