“Accident! I don’t know how it could have been an accident. It has been a most—most-most—a most monstrous—er—er—I must say, interference with a gentleman’s privacy and personal comfort.”
“Quite so, Mr. Jones, but—on the part of the lady, who is my wife—”
“So I understand. I myself am about to become a married man, and I can understand what your feelings must be. I wish to say as little as possible to harrow them.” Here Mr. Brown bowed. “But—there’s the fact. She did do it.”
“She thought it was—me!”
“What!”
“I give you my word as a gentleman, Mr. Jones. When she was putting that mess upon you, she thought it was me! She did indeed.”
Mr. Jones looked at his new acquaintance and shook his head. He did not think it possible that any woman would make such a mistake as that.
“I had a very bad sore throat,” continued Mr. Brown, “and indeed you may perceive it still”—in saying this he perhaps aggravated a little the sign of his distemper—“and I asked Mrs. Brown to go down and get one—just what she put on you.”