“If you will excuse me, madam—” began Mr. Brooke apologetically.
“How did you come here?” asked Dulcibel, turning upon him in anger and alarm, for the change in her husband’s look terrified her. “The servants had no business to bring you. My husband sees almost nobody yet.”
“Madam, I came alone. No one but myself is to blame. I am Joan Brooke’s grandfather.”
“I don’t care whose grandfather you are; you had no right to come here!” cried impetuous Dulcibel. “Please leave us directly. I must get my husband indoors.”
Mr. Brooke would have apologized, but Dulcibel would not hear him; and he was turning away in dudgeon, when Joan appeared, glowing with her walk.
“Leo is just behind,” she began, “and Nessie—”
One glance at Mr. Brooke, another at George Rutherford, and all light and color died out of Joan’s face. She brushed past the retreating caller, and rushed to her father’s side.
“Father, father dear, what has happened? Are you ill? What is it?”
George spoke faintly and with difficulty.
“I should like to go indoors, my darling. Leo will help me. I cannot talk—I have such pain and confusion.”