"Come, buck up, old thing," she said, with an affectation of brusque
good-humour: "you haven't been sleeping. Isn't that it?"
"Yes. I'll never sleep any more."
"And you're taking--Veronal?"
"Yes, sometimes. Oh, don't bully me, Tony! I'm--done."
"I should think you were, to come and tell a woman beastly stories about
her own daughter! You'll be sorry to-morrow. Did you tell _her_ this
beautiful idea by way of making yourself engaging?"
"I told her--yes."
"And she didn't knock you down? Upon my word, I am surprised. Now look
here, Gerald; you must go. I'm going to dress. We are going to the
Cassowary's ball. You'd better go to bed and try to sleep _without any
Veronal_. Will you? Will you, Gerry, poor old boy?"
His nerves were in such a condition that this unmerited and unexpected
kindness broke him down utterly. Suddenly, to her horror, the poor
wretch burst into tears, sobbing like a child.
"Gerry, don't--oh, for Heaven's sake, don't!" she cried, laying her hand
on his head. "You--you _mustn't_. Gerry, Gerry dear----"
"Yes, pat his head and call him dear!" cried Brigit furiously from the
open door. "He insults me in the most abominable way, the vile little
beast, and then you pet him.
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