"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.
"I told you to stay where you were," he said peremptorily.
"I don't always do as I'm told," she retorted with spirit.
"You will in this instance, though," he rejoined, crossing the room swiftly towards her.
But quick though he was, she was still quicker.