She followed him to the threshold. “You must—I must—light the gas in here for you.”
“Guess I can light the gas,” said Lemuel, getting up to intercept her in this service. She had run into the reception-room for a match, and she would not suffer him to prevent her.
“No, no! I insist! And Lemuel,” she said, turning upon him, “I must ask you to excuse my speaking harshly to you. I was—agitated.”
“Perfectly excusable,” said Lemuel.
“I am afraid,” said the girl, fixing him with her eyes, “that you are not well.”
“Oh yes, I'm well. I'm—pretty tired; that's all.”
“Have you been walking far?”
“Yes—not very.”
“The walking ought to do you good,” said Sibyl, with serious thoughtfulness. “I think,” she continued, “you had better have some bryonia. Don't you think you had?”
“No, no! I don't want anything,” protested Lemuel.