With an earnest, anxious look in his eyes, Bindle knelt beside her and from the saucer proceeded to sprinkle her generously with vinegar and water, until in odour she resembled a freshly-made salad.
When he had sprinkled the greater part of the contents of the saucer on to her person, he sat back on his heels and, with grave and anxious eyes, regarded her as a boy might who has lighted the end of a rocket and waits expectantly to see the result.
Gradually the storm of emotion died down and finally ceased. He still continued to gaze fixedly at Mrs. Bindle, convinced that vinegar-and-water was the one and only cure for hysterics.
Presently, she straightened herself. She moved, then struggling up into a sitting position, she looked about her. The unaccustomed smell assailed her nostrils she sniffed sharply two or three times.
"What have you been doing?" she demanded.
"I been bringin' you to," he said, his forehead still ribbed with anxiety.
"Oh! you beast, you!" she moaned, as she struggled to her feet. "You done it on purpose."
"Done wot on purpose?" he enquired.
"Poured vinegar all over me and soaked me to the skin. You've spoilt my dress. You——" and with a characteristically sudden movement, she turned and fled from the room and upstairs, banging the door with a ferocity that shook the whole house.
"Well, I'm blowed!" he muttered. "An' me thinkin' she'd like me to bring 'er round," and he slipped out into the parlour, which wore a very obvious morning-after-the-party aspect. His object was to give Mrs. Bindle an opportunity of returning. He knew her to be incapable of going to bed with her kitchen untidy.