Mary knew that she was safe, for on both palms was a generous supply of mustard.
“Say you are sorry for what you said, then I will.”
“I won’t, not if I die for it. I’ll ring for a servant.” He leaped from the couch only to fall back with a groan. More mustard on the soles of his feet. “Do you want to kill me?” he yelled.
“Far from it Roger, darling. I only want to make you well.”
“Thank you,” he sneered, “you are succeeding admirably. Oh, Mary, Mary, for the love of heaven, will you take them off?”
Mary looked at him.
“I’m sorry, oh yes, I’m sorry I said that awful word. I’m so sorry, that if I had your grandfather here I’d make him eat the whole business.”
Mary smiled, and slowly undid the bandages from his feet. “You have said you are sorry, dear. That is sufficient without emphasizing it. I know how you feel. Grandfather is always irritable after using them.”
Roger muttered something which sounded suspiciously like a repetition of his fond speech on grandfather, but Mary wisely closed her ears, and as the last bandage was removed, Roger gave a huge sigh of relief, and said: “Now, tell me the meaning of this idiotic performance, and why you have tortured me with that old man’s infernal remedy; but hold on, there’s one on my head yet, you didn’t take off.”
“Oh no, dear, I didn’t put any on your head.”