But even as he reached his hand for
the fragrant coffee that his wife had poured for him, he felt a
single dull throb in one of his temples, and knew too well its
meaning. He did not lift the coffee to his mouth, but sat with a
grave face and an unusually quiet manner. He had made a serious
mistake, and he knew it. That glass of wine had stimulated the
relaxed nerves of his stomach too suddenly, and sent a shock to the
exhausted brain. A slight feeling of nausea was perceived and then
came another throb stronger than the first, and with a faint
suggestion of pain. This was followed by a sense of physical
depression and discomfort.
"What's the matter, doctor?" asked his wife, who saw something
unusual in his manner.
"A feeling here that I don't just like," he replied, touching his
temple with a finger.
"Not going to have a headache?"
"I trust not. It would be a bad thing for me today."
He slowly lifted his cup of coffee and sipped a part of it.
"Late suppers and late hours may do for younger people," said Mrs.
Hillhouse. "_I_ feel wretched this morning, and am not surprised
that your nerves are out of order, nor that you should be threatened
with headache."
The doctor did not reply. He sipped his coffee again, but without
apparent relish, and, instead of eating anything, sat in an
unusually quiet manner and with a very sober aspect of countenance.
"I don't want a mouthful of breakfast," said Mrs.
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