And people continued to say, "Mrs. Chepstow--oh, she must be well over fifty."
Undoubtedly she was face to face with a very bad period. With every month that passed, loneliness stared at her more fixedly, looked at her in the eyes till she began to feel almost dazed, almost hypnotized. A dulness crept over her.
And then, one morning of June, Doctor Meyer Isaacson sat sipping his coffee and looking at her name, written against the time, five-thirty, in his book of consultations.
Doctor Meyer Isaacson did not know Mrs. Chepstow personall