"There, that's better," he observed, regarding the empty glass with
satisfaction. "No, lie still"--as she attempted to rise. "You'll feel
better in a few minutes."

"I'm better now," declared Magda sulkily.

Her head was growing clearer every minute. She was even able to feel an
intense irritation against this man who had just compelled her to drink
the sal volatile.

He looked at her unperturbedly.

"Are you? That's good. Still, you'll stay where you are till I tell you
that you may get up." He turned to a comfortable-looking woman who was
standing at the foot of the couch on which Magda lay--a housekeeper of
the nice old-fashioned black-satin kind. "Now, Mrs. Braithwaite, I think
this lady will be glad of a cup of tea by the time you can have one
ready."

"Very good, sir."

With a last, admiring glance at the slender figure on the couch the
good woman bustled away, leaving Magda alone with her unknown host and
burning with indignation at the cool way in which he had ordered her to
remain where she was.

He had his back to her for the moment, having turned to poke up the
fire, and Magda raised herself on her elbow, preparatory to getting off
the couch. He swung round instantly.