Artistic was Bundle's word. She had been zealous in her ministrations—largely consisting of the application of cold water—and the Countess had instantly responded, passing a white, bewildered hand across her brow and murmuring faintly.
It was at this point that Bill, at last relieved from his duties with telephone and doctors, had come bustling into the room and had instantly proceeded to make (in Bundle's opinion) a most regrettable idiot of himself.
He had hung over the Countess with a concerned and anxious face and had addressed a series of singularly idiotic remarks to her:
"I say, Countess. It's all right. It's really all right. Don't try to talk. It's bad for you. Just lie still. You'll be all right in a minute. It'll all come back to you. Don't say anything till you're quite all right. Take your time. Just lie still and close your eyes. You'll remember everything in a minute. Have another sip of water. Have some brandy. That's the stuff. Don't you think, Bundle, that some brandy...?"
"For God's sake, Bill, leave her alone," said Bundle crossly. "She'll be all right."
And with an expert hand she flipped a good deal of cold water on to the exquisite make-up of the Countess's face.
The Countess flinched and sat up. She looked considerably more wide awake.
"Ah!" she murmured. "I am here. Yes, I am here."
"Take your time," said Bill. "Don't talk till you feel quite all right again."
The Countess drew the folds of a very transparent négligé closer around her.