"Mr. Grossman is crazy," she modestly observed.
"About you he is," said Mrs. Légère; "and," she added, "I doo't blame him.—But look here"—she placed a crooked forefinger under the girl's chin and turned the blushing face upward—"look here, what a tired little woman it is!—Max, you're so careless, I'll bet you've never thought to give this poor child a drop of wine to strengthen her after all that traveling!"
"I tried to get her to," said Max, "but she vouldn't take it."
"What?"
"I don't drink," explained Mary.
"Of course you don't, but," Mrs. Légère elucidated, "taking a glass or two of wine after a railroad ride isn't drinking."
"No-o," Mary granted; "but I don't care for it."
"I hope not—only taken this way it's medicine. I don't blame you for not drinking in a restaurant with a bad boy like Max; but you need it now; you're all played out. This is as good as your home till to-morrow, you know. Just have a little with me; I'm old enough to be your mother, and we won't give Max a drop—just to punish him.—Cassie!"
She had run through the speech with a rapidity that had left the girl no chance for reply, and now, before Mary could move her lips, she had, with amazing agility, leaped to a back door, opened it, called an order into the darkness beyond, and as quickly returned to her former position on the sofa.
"It will be the best thing in the world for you," she said. "The doctor orders it for me, and so I always have it ready on ice."