"What will you have? A cup of tea?"
An expression of disgust spread over her features. "Tea! It is the worst thing I could take. You do not understand—of course you do not understand. Put your arm round me, dear; let me lean my head on your shoulder; it will relieve me." I did not stir. "What do you mean by treating me so cruelly? I am your wife, and you promised to love and cherish me. Have you forgotten so soon, so soon?" I did not reply, and her voice grew more imploring. "When women suffer as I do, John, they need something to keep up their strength. Oh, this frightful sinking! I am sure a little brandy would do me good. Don't be shocked; I wouldn't ask for it if I wasn't certain it would remove this horrible pain."
"Otherwise," I said, with sad and bitter emphasis, "you would not touch it, you have such abhorrence of it."
"Why, of course I have. I take it only as a medicine." I picked up the empty brandy bottle, and placed it on the dressing table. "Oh, that," she exclaimed. "It was filled with lemonade, and I drank it every drop while you were away last night. What kept you so long? Oh, my head is racked! I hope no pretty Frenchwoman——"
"Be silent!" I cried, sternly. "Of what use is this subterfuge? You cannot deceive me."
"I never tried to r I would not be so wicked. It is cruel of you to pick a quarrel with me the moment we are married. People wouldn't believe it if they were told. For God's sake, get me a little brandy!"
"From me, Barbara, not one drop!"
"You won't?"
"No, I will not."
"Brute! Leave my room!"