"Father, why do men, when they find themselves getting drunk, take another glass of whiskey and soda, 'just to straighten up'? It seems to me that every glass of it they take makes them sillier and more stupid than they were before."
"Why do you ask me, Jessie? You know that I am almost a teetotaller. You should answer that question yourself. You were championing the cause of drinking last evening against Dr. Sinclair."
"Now, father, that's not fair." A slight flush appeared on her neck and flowed upwards, deepening the rich colour of her face. "You know that I didn't mean that, especially when there were men around me drinking themselves into imbecility."
"Then, why did you say it?"
Her father's eyes, kindly but keen, were searching her face. She felt a fresh wave of hot blood mounting upwards:
"Oh, I don't know! You ought to have learned by this time that a woman cannot always give reasons even to herself why she does things."
"Well, whatever you did it for, you succeeded in making Dr. Sinclair very uncomfortable for a while."
"He deserves to be made uncomfortable," she flashed back. "He makes other people feel very uncomfortable sometimes."
She glanced at her mother. Mrs. MacAllister's lips were tightly closed. Her nose was elevated a bit. She was about to sniff at something. She had not time. A high-pitched voice was heard outside:
"Get out of my way, boy. Bless my soul! Chop-chop! You are most exasperating."