“No, no,” moaned his wife. “I’m so ill—so ill. Papa—couldn’t I stay here to-night—my own old little room?”
“Yes, yes, my darling,” said Denville tenderly.
“I am so ill, papa. My head throbs so if I move it.”
“Let her stay, Frank,” said Claire sympathisingly.
“Not I. What! go home without her? I’ll be hanged if I do!” cried Burnett pettishly. “She’ll be all right as soon as she gets out into the air. Now, May, jump up.”
He caught her by the arm, but May uttered a wail.
“Frank, dear, you are cruel,” said Claire.
“You mind your own business,” said the irritable little fellow sharply. “She has got to come home with me.”
“I—I—I can’t, Frank. I am so ill.”
“Nonsense! Sick headache. I often have them. You’ve taken too much wine.”