"I was greatly distressed at the inroads the disease had made in his mind, and I knew I must act with the greatest tact and foresight. He was just telling the parrot all the beautiful things about me and my resemblance to the red flower when I walked in, wearing the flower over my heart.
"He gave one look at me and the flower, and that was almost too much for him. He began to mumble something, and then became speechless in his chair.
"I was almost heartbroken to see the swift inroads the disease had made on him, poor dear.
"'Gott,' I said gently, sitting down by him, 'you must take a little of this,' and I made him drink a good stiff toddy.
"He drank it, looking bewilderingly around, like the poor inmates of the insane asylum I have seen, and every now and then looking at the red lily and sighing as if in great pain.
"At last he spoke. 'Er—Miss—Miss—er'—
"'Lucretia,' I said, smiling encouragingly at him; 'just Lucretia always, dear Gott, between you and me!'
"This would have landed any sensible man, but thirty years of the disease had made Gott abnormal.
"Again I saw the color leave his cheek, and his face turn pale. Another good bracer, and he was better.
"'As I was just going to remark,' he said, turning pale again, 'Lu—Lu—Lu—ere—' he stammered.