"I wonder if you 'd mind going into the barn for me?" she murmured.
She generally referred to her academy as the barn. It had once been a warehouse.
He jumped up. "Certainly," he said, very eager.
"I think you 'll see a small bottle of eau-de-cologne on the top of the piano," she said, and shut her eyes.
He hastened away, full of his mission, and feeling himself to be a terrific cavalier and guardian of weak women. He felt keenly that he must be equal to the situation. Yes, the small bottle of eau-de-cologne was on the top of the piano. He seized it and bore it to her on the wings of chivalry. He had not been aware that eau-de-cologne was a remedy for, or a palliative of headaches.
She opened her eyes, and with a great effort tried to be bright and better. But it was a failure. She took the stopper out of the bottle and sniffed first at the stopper and then at the bottle; then she spilled a few drops of the liquid on her handkerchief and applied the handkerchief to her temples.
"It's easier," she said.
"Sure?" he asked. He did not know what to do with himself, whether to sit down and feign that she was well, or to remain standing in an attitude of respectful and grave anxiety. He thought he ought to depart; yet would it not be ungallant to desert her under the circumstances? She was alone. She had no servant, only an occasional charwoman.
She nodded with brave, false gaiety. And then she had a relapse.
"Don't you think you'd better lie down?" he suggested in more masterful accents. And added: "And I'll go? ... You ought to lie down. It's the only thing." He was now speaking to her like a wise uncle.