Mrs. Frump made her sentences short, to accommodate her breath.
As she passed a cool sponge across the patient's brow, she said:
"I knew it would be so. He has been here. I saw him round the corner. Looking pale and mad."
"You are right, madam. He has been here."
Mrs. Frump's pleasant little eyes shone with unnatural anger, and there was a presage of wrathful words in her quivering lips. Mrs. Frump was desperately trying to keep back certain private opinions that she had long entertained, but proved unequal to the effort. She burst out with:
"He's an undutiful son, sir. A monster, sir. And he's killing his poor father. He's--"
"Ah! what?" said Mr. Van Quintem, opening his eyes, and looking wildly around, like one who wakes from a horrible dream.
"It's I. Your niece--Gusty," replied Mrs. Frump, changing her assumed harsh tones into her natural soft ones "And I think you had better go to bed. Please take hold, Mr. Wilkeson, and assist him to the next room." She added, in a whisper, "Don't talk with him any more to-day."
Mr. Wilkeson nodded, raised his eyebrows to signify that he appreciated the advice, and proceeded at once to aid Mrs. Frump in her benevolent task. The old gentleman had considerably revived by this time.
"You are right, my dear Gusty," said he, looking fondly at his niece. "You are always right. And you are right, too, sir," he added, turning to Marcus. "Ah, if I had known such a good adviser years ago."