As she passed a cool sponge across the patient's brow, she said:
"I knew it would be so. He has been here. I saw him round the corner.
Looking pale and mad."
"You are right, madam. He _has_ been here."
Mrs. Frump's pleasant little eyes shone with unnatural anger, and there
was a presage of wrathful words in her quivering lips. Mrs. Frump was
desperately trying to keep back certain private opinions that she had
long entertained, but proved unequal to the effort. She burst out with:
"He's an undutiful son, sir. A monster, sir. And he's killing his poor
father. He's--"
"Ah! what?" said Mr. Van Quintem, opening his eyes, and looking wildly
around, like one who wakes from a horrible dream.
"It's I. Your niece--Gusty," replied Mrs. Frump, changing her assumed
harsh tones into her natural soft ones "And I think you had better go to
bed. Please take hold, Mr. Wilkeson, and assist him to the next room."
She added, in a whisper, "Don't talk with him any more to-day."
Mr. Wilkeson nodded, raised his eyebrows to signify that he appreciated
the advice, and proceeded at once to aid Mrs.
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