“Will you open?” came threateningly from the outside. Trembling in every nerve Alice rose and unlocked the door to admit the man she called husband.
“What do you mean?” he asked, grasping her arm in a manner anything but gentle, “what do you mean by locking your door?”
By this time Alice was wrought up to a hysterical pitch. With a quick movement she threw off the hand that held her.
“I locked the door to be safe from intrusion. I am sick tonight, and wish to be alone.”
“I dare say,” was the unfeeling response. “If it had been some one else who wished admittance, our honored guest, for instance, the door would not have been so firmly locked. Your husband, however, is not so welcome.”
“Lawrence!” almost shrieked the sorely tried woman. “How dare you!”
“O, I dare anything, as you will soon find. Just now, I order you back to your bed, and to keep quiet until I join you, in a few moments.”
“Lawrence! You—do—not—mean to stay?” gasped the poor suffering woman.
“Well, I—just—mean—to—stay;” mimicking her frenzied appeal.
“But I am sick tonight, oh, so sick!”