He opened his mouth to roar at her, but the words did not come; instead he fell back limply in his chair. Mrs. Ogden rushed to him. Joan stood very still; she had no impulse to help him; she felt cold and numb with anger.
"I think you've killed your father," said Mrs. Ogden unsteadily.
Joan roused herself. She looked into her mother's working face; they stared at each other across the prostrate man.
"No," she said gravely, "it's you, both of you, who are trying to kill me."
She went and fetched brandy, and together they forced some between the pallid lips. After a little he stirred.
"You see, he's not dead," said Joan mechanically. "I'll go for the doctor."
When the doctor came he shook his head.
"How did this happen?" he inquired.
"He got angry," Mrs. Ogden told him.
"But I warned you that he mustn't be excited, that you ought not to excite him under any circumstances. Really, Mrs. Ogden, if you do, I won't answer for the consequences."