“We needn’t fix those things of yours for me after all,” declared Zelda, suddenly. “I bought a Tyrolese peasant costume once on a time, and here’s my chance to use it. It’s the ideal thing for Christine.”
“But Zee—” began Olive.
“Please don’t make me talk. It’s unkind. I’ll need all my strength for to-night,”—and Zelda lay back and watched her cousin with languid interest. Olive kept up a fire of protest as she set herself to the task of changing the Gretchen costume. She had been taken aback by the suddenness of Zelda’s attack and the necessity for prompt action.
Olive looked up suddenly, holding Gretchen’s gown in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other.
“This is all absurd, Zee Dameron. You can’t put me off as you did Mrs. Carr. I’m going to telephone for the doctor at once.”
“No, no, no! I tell you I have plenty of medicine. I’ll not let a doctor cross the threshold.”
She held up the bottle that Olive had handed her.
“It’s a French doctor’s prescription for just this trouble. It’s fine. I’ve taken quarts of it.”
Olive went to the bed, snatched the bottle and held it to her nose.
“Violet water! A French medicine! You fraud, you awful, shameless fraud!”