Then she drew a long sigh, and let the whole story pour forth in a mad rush of words.
“And it’s only one thing I saw, and one thing I heard. And I saw Alma Remsen, out on the tennis court, in a perfectly fiendish rage, and she was striking that old nurse person of hers and calling her the most terrible names, and the man who takes care of the place came and carried her into the house.”
“Carried the nurse?”
“No, of course not! Carried Alma into the house, and she was kicking and fighting like mad. And the other time was when I was out on the lake and I could see just the same sort of row going on, but I was too far to hear what she said. But this time the man wasn’t about and the nurse managed by herself to drag Alma into the house.”
“You’re sure what you are saying is true, Posy?” asked Lora, very gravely and with an intent look at the girl.
“Oh, yes, Mrs. Moore, I’m sure, and the reason I’m telling you is because I think that Alma isn’t—you know—isn’t quite right, sometimes. She isn’t—exactly, all there. And then, except on these occasions, she is all right, her own sweet, lovely self.”
“Do you know Alma well, Miss Posy?” I asked.
“Oh, yes. We come up here every summer, I’ve known her for five or six years. She’s older than I am, we don’t go in the same set, but we meet at fairs and tournaments and she’s always most chummy with me. Now, I know you all think I’m telling this just to make a sensation and all that, but it isn’t at all. I’ve thought it over a lot, and it seemed to be my duty. You see, I’ve doped it out that she has spells—you know, epileptic, or whatever they call it, and that they don’t come on often, but when they do, she has no control over her passions. She becomes—oh, somebody else, like—and she fights like a mad person. If you’d seen her go for Mr. Merivale—wow! I don’t want to see it again!”
“I can’t help thinking you’re mistaken in your diagnosis, Miss May,” I said, speaking indulgently, for I didn’t want her to flare up. “But I think it’s far more likely the two occasions you speak of were just fits of anger, unladylike, perhaps, even unjustifiable, but not the result of a diseased mind or body.”
She looked at me with earnest eyes.