I put her in a chair and dashed down the stairs.
"Please call a taxi for me at once, and bring some brandy or wine upstairs," I said to the attendant. "My mother-in-law is ill."
As the taxi hurried us homeward I became more and more alarmed at her condition. Her very evident suffering now heightened my fears.
"Are we nearly there?" she said faintly. "I am so cold."
"Only a few blocks more." I tried to speak reassuringly. Then I ventured on something which I had wanted to do ever since we left the tavern, but which my mother-in-law's dislike of being aided in any way had prevented.
I slipped off my coat, and, turning toward her, wrapped it closely around her shoulders, and took her in my arms as I would a child. To my surprise she huddled closer to me, only protesting faintly:
"You must not do that. You will take cold."
"Nonsense," I replied. "I never take cold, and we are almost there."
"I am so glad," she sighed, and leaned more heavily against me.
As I felt her weight in my arms and realized that she was actually clinging to me, actually depending upon me for help and comfort, I felt my heart warm toward her.