“I suppose,” said Henderson, with a smile, “that you put that notion into the reporter's head.”
“But he thought he suggested it to me.”
“Let's look over the last drawing.” Henderson half rose from his chair to pull the sheet towards him, but instantly sank back, and put his hand to his heart. Carmen saw that he was very pale, and ran round to his chair.
“What is it?”
“Nothing,” he said, taking a long breath. “Just a stitch. Indigestion. It must have been the coffee.”
Carmen ran to the dining-room, and returned with a wineglass of brandy.
“There, take that.”
He drank it. “Yes, that's better. I'm all right now.” And he sat still, slowly recovering color and control of himself.
“I'm going to send for the doctor.”
“No, no; nonsense. It has all passed,” and he stretched out his arms and threw them back vigorously. “It was only a moment's faintness. It's quite gone.”