"I consider," said Mrs. Portheris solemnly, "that eucalyptus in another form saved my life. But I inhaled it."
"Tho," ventured Brother Demetrius, "tho did I. But the wine ith for internal drinking."
"Listen to him! Eternal drinking, that's what he means. You never saw such an old boy for the influenza—gets it every week or so. How many bottles, madam? Just a nip, after dinner, and you don't know how poetic it will make you feel into the bargain."
"One bottle," replied Mrs. Portheris, "the larger size, please. Anything with eucalyptus in it must be salutary. And as we are going underground, where it is bound to be damp, I think I'll have a little now."
"That's what I call English common-sense," exclaimed Brother Eusebius, getting out a glass. "Will nobody keep the lady company? It's Popish, but it's good."
Nobody would. Momma observed rather uncautiously that the smell of it was enough, at which Mrs. Portheris remarked, with some asperity, that she hoped Mrs. Wick would never be obliged to be indebted to the "smell." "It is quite excellent," she said, "most cordial. I really think, as a precaution, I'll take another glass."
"Isn't it pretty strong?" asked poppa.
