“Yes, yes; you shall see her; she 'll not leave you,” said Martha, as if caressing a child. “We must remove her; we must get her out of this.”
“To be sure; yes, of course!” cried Dalton. “There's a room here empty. It's a tender heart she has, any way;” and, so saying, he arose, and with the aid of some half-dozen waiters transported the now unconscious Zoe, chair and all, into a small chamber adjoining the Saal.
“This is her father's hand,” murmured Mrs. Ricketts, as she pressed Dalton's in her own,——“her father's hand.”
“Yes, my dear!” said Dalton, returning the pressure, and feeling a strong desire to blubber, just for sociality's sake.
“If you knew how they loved each other,” whispered Martha, while she busied herself pinning cap-ribbons out of the way of cold applications, and covering up lace from the damaging influence of restoratives.
“It 's wonderful,—it's wonderful!” exclaimed Peter, whose faculties were actually confounded by such a rush of sensations and emotions.
“Make him go back to his dinner, Martha; make him go back,” sighed the sick lady, in a half-dreamy voice.
“I couldn't eat a bit; a morsel would choke me this minute,” said Dalton, who could n't bear to be outdone in the refinements of excited sensibility.
“She must never be contradicted while in this state,” said Martha, confidingly. “All depends on indulgence.”
“It's wonderful!” exclaimed Dalton, again,——“downright wonderful!”