"Hush! You are over-excited. Ethel is better."
"Not dead! But Nigel looks—" Fulvia broke off. "He looks—! Was Ethel saved? She—went down the river,—" with a bewildered glance round. "I can't explain. I feel so strange! Is this the way people go out of their minds?"—and there was a short laugh. "Feel my hand; I am all on fire. But think—think of Ethel! The branch was breaking, and she let go—for my sake! And she is not drowned. I thought she must be drowned. Not drowned, you say? You are sure—quite sure?"
"Yes." Until then Fulvia's rapid utterances allowed no space for reply. "Perfectly sure."
"How do you know? Have you seen her? Has Nigel?"
"Malcolm and Nigel were coming up the river in their boat—just in time."
"And she is—not the worse?"
"She will suffer, of course; but we were able—mercifully—to bring her round."
"She will get over it—will get well? Promise me!"
"I trust so, in time. We have taken her home, and my wife will stay there all night. I have come now to see you."
"I! Oh, that does not matter. What does anything signify about me? If you will save Ethel—people love Ethel, you know. And for Nigel's sake! It doesn't matter about me! Why don't you go back to Ethel? She ought not to be left. She might die; and if she did, Nigel would die too. Look! Can't you see?"