Herold went into the dining-room, which adjoined the library, and returned with decanter, syphon, and glasses. He poured out a brandy and soda for John and watched him drink it; then he realized that he, too, would be the better for stimulant. With an abstemious man's idea of taking brandy as medicine, he poured out for himself an extravagant dose, mixed a little soda-water with it, and gulped it down.
“That 'll do me good,” said John; but on saying it he fell to shivering, despite the heat of the summer afternoon.
“You 've caught a chill,” cried Unity. She counselled home and bed at once.
“Not yet,” he murmured. “It was all I could do to get here. Let me rest for a couple of hours. I shall be all right. I'm not going to bed,” he declared with sudden irritability; “I 've never gone to bed in the daytime in my life. I've never been ill, and I'm not going to be ill now. I'm only stiff and tired.”
“You 'll go to bed here right away,” said Herold.
John protested. Herold insisted.
“Those infernal clothes—you must get them off at once,” said he. John being physically weak, his natural obstinacy gave way. Unity saw the sense of the suggestion; but it was giving trouble.
“Not a bit,” said Herold. “There 's a spare bedroom. John can have mine, which is aired. Mrs. Ripley will see to it.”
He went out to give the necessary orders. Unity busied herself with unlacing and taking off the stiffened boots. Herold returned, beckoned to Unity, and whispered that he had telephoned for a doctor. Then he said to John:
“How are you feeling, dear old man?”