He met Mrs. Brundage at the door.
"She's feared of me—pushes me away," she whispered. "Highsterical, you may call it. If you're Dick, sir, it's you she wants. I've got her in bed, but I don't promise she'll stay there."
He pushed past her, saw the rum-bottle and the eggs set out on the kitchen table, took a tumbler and spoon from the dresser, and broke the first egg into the glass.
"Sugar," he said, "and milk."
Mrs. Brundage gave him both, with a quickness which pleased him.
"Tell her Dick's coming," he said, and the woman went, leaving the door ajar.
As he beat the eggs to a froth, he could hear her awkward attempts to soothe the girl's distress.
When the mixture was ready, "I'm coming," he called. "Dick's coming to you, sure thing," and took it into the bedroom.
"I think," he said, standing over her, "that you're making rather a fool of yourself."
"I know I am. But I can't stop." Then, sitting up, with tears running down her face, she sobbed out: "Don't you be unkind to me too."