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Taxed with this freakish behaviour, she
would refer to the example of St. Francis of Assisi who did the same,
and brazenly ask whether he wasn't good enough for them? Whether she
couldn't give her last shirt to a beggar, as well as anybody else? In
short, there was nothing to be done with her.
The dear lady, as Keith often called her, was becoming a real problem.
And now her eye, roving round the room, fixed itself with the
drunkard's divine unerring instinct upon Denis. What a nice, modest,
gentlemanly-looking boy! Just what she wanted.
"This sirocco!" she sighed, groping dramatically for a chair. "It makes
me feel so funny. Oh, dear! I shall go off in a faint. Ah, do be a kind
young man and fetch me some brandy and soda. A large tumbler. Ah, do!
And very little soda, please--on account of my heart. Only the smallest
drop!"
She took two or three sips, paused awhile as though undecided whether
she could possibly swallow such nasty stuff and then, with a fine show
of reluctance, gulped it all down.


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