“She didn’t,” he exclaimed, with indignation. “She never touched my hand. She just––”
“Oh, I know what she did—and of course I’m grateful. I’m delighted that she was there to do it—delighted. I quite see now why you couldn’t let her go, when you knew your fit was coming on. I’ve seen you pretty bad, but I’ve never seen you as bad as that; and I must say I never should have thought of counting ten as a cure for it.”
“Well, she did.”
“Quite so! And if I were you I’d never go anywhere without her. I’d keep her on hand in case I took a turn––”
He was looking more and more reproachful. “I must say, Barbe, I don’t think you’re very reasonable.”
She pushed him from her with both hands against his shoulders. “Go away, for heaven’s sake! You’ll drive me crazy. I’m not going to lose my temper with you. I’ll never do it again. I’ve got you to bear with, and I’m going to bear with you. But go! No, go 186 now! Don’t stop to make explanations. You can do that later. I’ll lay in a supply of Florida water and an afghan....”
He went with that look on his face which a well meaning dog will wear when his good intentions are being misinterpreted. On his way to the office he kept saying to himself: “Well I don’t know what to do. Whatever I say she takes me up the wrong way. All I wanted was for her to understand that the little thing is a good little thing....”