“You mustn't play the fool, Bess,” said her brother, with dignified severity.
“But I'm really serious, Alan. Shall I give you something? Which shall we begin on? And we'd better begin soon, for there's a man coming from the doctor to look after you, and then you won't get anything.”
“Don't be ridiculous! Give me those decanters!” Alan struggled out of his chair, and trembled over to where she had them on the table beside her.
She caught them up, one in either hand, and held them as high as she could lift them. “If you don't sit down and promise to keep still, I'll smash them both on the hearth. You know I will.”
Her strange eyes gleamed, and he hesitated; then he went back to his chair.
“I don't see what's got into you to-night. I don't want anything,” he said. He tried to brave it out, but presently he cast a piteous glance at the decanters where she had put them down beside her again. “Does the doctor think I'd better go again?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“When?”