"
"Well, instead of sitting it out," she said, rising, "let us go and get
a cup of bouillon. I feel the need of something to hold me up."
"Here is your favor," remarked Stanford, as they passed down the hall.
It was an absurd Japanese monster, with eyes goggling out of its head.
"How horrible!" cried Berenice. "It looks exactly like old Christopher
Plant when he is talking about his last invention in sauces. Don't you
know the way in which he sticks out his eyes, and says: 'It is the
greatest misfortune in nature that the nerves of taste do not extend
all the way down to the stomach!'"
Stanford laughed gleefully.
"Jove, I don't know but he's right. Think of tasting a cocktail all the
way down to the stomach!"
"Or a quinine pill!" returned she with a grimace. "Thank you, no.
Things are bad enough as they are."
At the door of the supper-room they encountered Dr. Wilson, with a bud
on his arm.
"Well, Miss Morison," he exclaimed, with his usual jovial brusqueness,
"I thought that my wife was the cheekiest woman in Boston, but you ran
her hard to-night."
"Oh, even if I surpassed her," Berenice retorted in sudden anger, yet
forcing herself to speak laughingly, "she is entirely safe to leave the
reputation of the family in the hands of her husband.
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