The two girls lay side by side, on their backs. They seemed very thin and fragile in comparison with the solidity of their mother. Constance wisely held her peace.
Mrs. Baines put her lips together, meaning: “This is becoming tedious. I shall have to be angry in another moment!”
“Come!” said she again.
The girls could hear her foot tapping on the floor.
“I really don’t want it, mamma,” Sophia fought. “I suppose I ought to know whether I need it or not!” This was insolence.
“Sophia, will you take this medicine, or won’t you?”
In conflicts with her children, the mother’s ultimatum always took the formula in which this phrase was cast. The girls knew, when things had arrived at the pitch of ‘or won’t you’ spoken in Mrs. Baines’s firmest tone, that the end was upon them. Never had the ultimatum failed.
There was a silence.
“And I’ll thank you to mind your manners,” Mrs. Baines added.
“I won’t take it,” said Sophia, sullenly and flatly; and she hid her face in the pillow.