"I am only shaken, thank you."
She looked into the cab. "My dear," she purred, "I am so terribly sorry. I hope you were not hurt either. I cannot say—"
"No, I'm all right, thank you. I'll get out."
Then she fainted. I caught her and carried her to the limousine. When I had set her on the deep seat, I turned to the lady.
"I do not know where she lives," I said. "We have only met casually."
"A physician?" she queried. "Had she better—"
"I don't think it is a case for a doctor. She has only fainted. Perhaps you—"
"I will attend to her, and when we get to the Opera House, my maid—"
She turned to the footman and seemed to tell him to stay behind and see to the cabman and the police, who had come up. Then she stepped into the car, and a moment later we were slipping silently up the street. By the lights in the car, I could see that our friend was a handsome woman of perhaps thirty-eight. She was almost entirely enveloped in a magnificent sable coat: her head was bare. The great thing about her was her exquisite voice. While her fingers were busy about the girl's hat and throat, the latter opened her eyes. Then she sat up and put her hand to her head.
"No, lean back, my dear," said our hostess. "I will spray you."