Alas, what troubles, what unending anxiety a woman can cause a man!
After getting over this difficulty, I swear I will not even converse
with any one of them again. In the meantime I must invoke the aid of
this wretched girl Elizabeth. _Necessitas non habet legem_. Elizabeth
is that most irritating necessity.




CHAPTER VIII

Elizabeth often speaks of the time when she poisoned The Kid. She says
she never had such a 'turn' in all her life, and wouldn't go through
such an experience again for all the money in the world. Neither,
indeed, would I, or Henry, or Marion. Looking back on the matter, I
don't think The Kid cared for it either.

It was a peaceful summer evening. The Kid had just gone to bed and
we--Henry, Marion and I--had foregathered in the study. Marion spends
most of her time with us, being one of those delightfully restful
persons who doesn't need to be 'entertained,' who doesn't talk to you
if you want to do a little writing at meal times, and is altogether a
desirable visitor. Thus, at the moment of which I write, we sat in
perfect amity and silence, Henry working, I working, while every time I
looked up my eyes fell on the gratifying vision of dear Marion making a
blouse for me. Suddenly the door opened and Elizabeth entered.

'That there medicine you told me to give Miss Moira,' she said. 'I
just been looking at it and I see it's got your name on the bottle.'
She held it out to me as she spoke.