He stared at it; he muttered to himself: "Is she going to poison me?"
She seized his head with one hand, and held the open bottle to his
nose. "Your own prescription," she cried, "for yourself and your
hateful friends."
His nose told him what words might have tried vainly to say: he
swallowed the mixture. "If I lose the patient," he muttered oracularly,
"I lose the money." His resolute wife dragged him out of his chair. The
second door in the dining-room led into an empty bed-chamber. With her
help, he got into the room, and dropped on the bed.
Mrs. Vimpany consulted her watch.
On many a former occasion she had learnt what interval of repose was
required, before the sobering influence of the mixture could
successfully assert itself. For the present, she had only to return to
the other room. The waiter presented himself, asking if there was
anything he could do for her. Familiar with the defective side of her
husband's character, he understood what it meant when she pointed to
the bedroom door. "The old story, ma'am," he said, with an air of
respectful sympathy. "Can I get you a cup of tea?"
Mrs. Vimpany accepted the tea, and enjoyed it thoughtfully.
She had two objects in view--to be revenged on Mountjoy, and to find a
way of forcing him to leave the town before he could communicate his
discoveries to Iris.
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