"You are always talking that way, my dear."
"But I feel that this is something different. I—I am fearful that I shan't live long."
"Nonsense," with a cheery laugh he knew so well how to assume when the occasion demanded.
His cheerfulness was contagious, and she smiled faintly.
"If you would only reform—"
"Not a word on that threadbare question, Iris," he interrupted quickly. "I am tired of it, and you know it. I've something here that'll be good for your nerves."
He drew a bottle from his pocket and poured a few drops into a glass that stood near. Then, mixing with water, he offered it to his wife.
She drank it without a word.
"You will soon feel better, dear," he assured her in the kindest tone imaginable.
"Oh, dear, I hope so."