“Indeed he shall not!” cried Alice, a faint tinge of pink coming into her cheeks, and starting up as though to leave the sofa. “No, no,” she added, glancing nervously at her husband; his grave, anxious face touched her and surprised her.
“Will you let Mark carry you?” said Helen soothingly. “He has had plenty of practice with me, and he won’t drop you.”
“No, ten thousand times; why should anyone carry me? I’ve not lost the use of my limbs; I am quite capable of walking upstairs. I shall stay here for the present, whilst you all go to dinner. Pray go! Please go! Don’t mind me. Helen will tell you,” addressing her husband, “that it is nothing—nothing at all. Why, at one time I used to faint regularly every day—I got quite into the habit of it,” with a reassuring smile. “There is the gong. You really make me very uncomfortable all of you, staring at me like this. Go,” she added, waving them away, “go to dinner.”
Thus eagerly adjured they trooped off, with the exception of Helen. Mary observed that one person barely touched a morsel of food, and that was Reginald. He was silent and preoccupied, and answered at random when addressed.
Towards the middle of the meal Helen came sailing into the room, prepared to make up for lost time as she briskly unfolded her napkin.
“You may make your mind quite easy, Regy,” she said. “Alice will be all right to-morrow. She was only worn out, poor child, and has gone to bed, and is, I daresay, already asleep. How frightened you did look! What would have become of you if you had seen her when she was really ill, and her life hung by a thread from hour to hour?” she added between two spoonsful of soup.
“How do you know I was frightened?”
“Your face spoke volumes, my dear boy; you were as white as this tablecloth.”
“Is that how you look when you go into action, Regy?” asked Geoffrey, looking up from his plate.
“Scarcely, I hope, or I would be a sorry example to the men.”