But at last her lips began to turn from lead color to white, and then from white to pink, and her heavenly eyes to open again, and her mouth to murmur things pitiably small and not bearing on the matter in hand.
Her cheek was still colorless, when her consciousness came back, and she found she was lying on the ground with ever so many gentlemen looking at her.
At that, Modesty alarmed sent the blood at once rushing to her pale cheek.
A lovely lily seemed turning to a lovely rose before their eyes.
The next thing was, she hid that blushing face in her hands, and began to whimper.
The surgeon encouraged her: "Nay, we are all friends," he whispered, paternally.
She half parted her fingers and peered through them at Neville and Gaunt. Then she remembered all, and began to cry hysterically.
New dismay of sanguinary unprofessionals!
"Now, gentlemen, if you will lend me your flasks," said Mr. Islip, mighty calmly.
Griffith and Neville were instantly at his side, each with a flask.