''You shall try, for my sake. For our sake, Maud.''
''Damn you!''^o^^o^
''Yes, yes, damn us all, damn us all.'' He sighs; then returns to the
brushing of his hair. When after a moment I sink back, he catches
my eye.
''Why throw such a tantrum, hey?'' he says, almost kindly. And then: ''You are calmer, now? Very good. You know what to do, when they see you? Have Sue make you neat, no more than that. Be modest. Weep if you must, a little. You are sure what to say?''
I am, despite myself; for we have planned this, many times. I wait, then nod. ''Of course,'' he says. He pats at his pocket, at the bottle of drops. ''Think of London,'' he says. ''There are druggists on every street corner, there.''
My mouth trembles in scorn. ''You think,'' I say, ''I shall still want my medicine, in London?''
The words sound weak, even to my ears. He turns his head, saying nothing, perhaps suppressing a smile. Then he takes up his pen-knife and stands at the fire and cleans his nails—now and then giving a flick of the blade, to cast slivers of dirt, fastidiously, into the flames.
He takes them first to talk with Sue. Of course, they suppose her his wife, turned mad, thinking herself a servant, speaking in the manner of a maid, keeping to a maid''s room. I hear the creaking of the stairs and floor