"Ignatia."
There was just the faintness of a whisper in her voice. She had not found full courage as yet. Even in their firmest beliefs, old people are pursued by the fear of being thought foolish. The new generation always frightens them; it knows so much more than they.
"Ignatia?" John repeated.
"Yes--I--I want you to take it."
She began uncorking the bottle.
"Me? What for? I'm all right. I'm not ill."
"No--but----" she paused.
"But what?"
"It'll do you good. Try it, to please me."
She hid her white head against his coat.