"Is she ill?" asked Mavis.

"It's the indigestion," replied the last girl Mavis had noticed.

"Can I do anything?" asked Mavis.

"She always has it dreadful when she goes out to supper; now she's
paying for it and--" She got no further; her friend was seized with
another attack; all her attention was devoted to rubbing the
patient's stomach, the while the latter groaned loudly. It was a
similar noise which had awakened Mavis.

"I suppose we shan't get to sleep for an hour," yawned Miss Impett,
as she struggled into a not too clean nightdress.

"Oh, you cat, you!" gasped the sufferer.

"It's your own fault," retorted Miss Impett. "You always over-eat
yourself and drink such a lot of that filthy creme de menthe."

"Don't you wish you had the chance?" snapped the girl who was
attending her friend.

"I always drink Kummel; it's much more ladylike," remarked Miss
Impett.

"You'd drink anything you can bally well get," the sufferer cried at
a moment when she was free of pain.