"No, I don't think I could drink tea. What do you think I could have? You know, my dear, it was champagne that upset me like this! Mistah Petahs and I had a small bottle last night and it brought everything back."
She began to wipe a plaintive eye on her small handkerchief.
"The day I married my dear George—the father of my darlings—we had champagne. It always brings it all back to me."
"But—tea makes headaches better."
"Not mine." Mrs. Hetherington knitted her white brows and looked immensely interested.
"I think if you were to see dear Mistah Petahs and ask him to come along the alley-way and speak to me. He is so gentle, so sympathetic, he might suggest something, dear."
"Um," said Marcella, thinking of Jimmy. But she fetched Mistah Petahs who came with voluble and pleased sympathy.
He stood at the door of the cabin smiling fatuously. Mrs. Hetherington gave a little horrified shriek as she saw the tip of his toe over the threshold.
"No, no, naughty boy! You mustn't come in here! I'm shocked."
"Are you ill?" he asked in a deeply pained voice.