"So I privately ordered the carriage to be ready to bring me here, after taking her there. I mustn't stay long—but—"
"I am afraid you are in pain," said Mrs. Lucas, as he broke off, pressing his lips together.
"Thanks, it can't be helped. We had a dinner-party last week—the day you came—and the large mirror over the fireplace came down with a crash. No warning at all. I was underneath, and the frame just caught me—broke my collar-bone, and damaged the arm a good deal. I shall be all right in a few weeks."
"And nobody else was hurt?"
"Luckily not, Jean Trevelyan stepped back just in time. I should have escaped too, but I stupidly started forward—heard her father shout, and didn't know what it meant."
"You thought she wanted help?" suggested Emmeline, with bright eyes.
"I suppose it was a feeling of that sort. I don't know. There wasn't time to think. One does the sort of thing instinctively."
"Is that the Miss Trevelyan you want us to know?" asked Emmie timidly.
"Yes, you will see her soon. She hasn't been yet, I am afraid, for her father has been ill. I fancy he was unwell before, and the shock upset him. After he got home, he had a sort of unconscious attack—not exactly fainting. Dr. Ingram says he is overworked, and orders—"
Cyril broke off anew, clutching the arm of the chair with his left hand.