"Wine?" asked Dr. Ballard doubtfully, hesitating to drink.
"No, not wine. Drink it down. Now, the biscuits. Don't talk."
She pretended to busy herself with the leathern case upon her knees—replacing the flask, turning the key in the lock, rather elaborately fingering the smooth surface, as if all her attention was concentrated on some imaginary fleck or flaw she had just discovered.
When, watching covertly, she saw the haggard lines slowly fade from her companion's face, the blood gradually mount to his cheeks, she drew an audible breath.
"That's great stuff!" Daniel Ballard observed appreciatively. "What do you call it?"
Madam Crewe raised her eyebrows. "I don't call it. It has no name, so far as I know. It's an old stimulant my father picked up somewhere in the far East. He treasured it like gold."
"It's certainly done the trick. I was all in, and now I feel quite fit. Mrs. Slawson and I have been on the job since morning. She's a wonder, that woman! No end of nerve and pluck. I could make a corking good nurse of her! She's back there now, watching. Firm as Gibraltar. I couldn't stand it any longer. I had to get away for a moment, to catch a breath of fresh air, and a glimpse of——"
"Me?" Madam Crewe caught him up.
He corrected her gravely. "No, the evening star."
"Katherine came home from the Ronalds' this morning much disturbed."