He forced an emetic down her throat, but it had no effect. Then he
picked her up and carried her into the bath room and held her head
under the shower. The blood flowed down from her congested brain. She
struggled out of his arms and looked at him with dull angry eyes.
"What do you mean?" she demanded. "How dared you do such a thing to
me?"
"You had taken too much, my dear," he said kindly. "Or else it
affects you more than it did--possibly because you no longer need it.
I shall taper you off by degrees, and then I think we can do without
it."
"Without it? I couldn't live without it. I need more--and more--"
She looked about wildly.
"Oh, that is all right. They always think so at first. In six months
you will have forgotten it. Remember, I am a doctor--and a good one,
if I say so myself."
She dropped her eyes. "Very well," she said humbly. "Of course you
know best."
"Now, put on dry clothes and let us have dinner. It seems a year
since I dined with you."
"I haven't the strength."
He went into the parlor and returned with a small glass of cognac.
"This will brace you up, and, as I said, you must taper off. But I'll
measure the doses myself, hereafter."
She put on an evening gown, but with none of her old niceness of
detail. She merely put it on.
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