“Mademoiselle—Mademoiselle Violet,” he cried. “You have come to see for yourself. This way!”
She raised her arm and struck him across the face so that, with a little moan, he staggered back against the wall. Then she hastened forward into the room towards which he had pointed and the door of which stood open. The commissionaire followed her. The servants were beginning to appear.
The room was in darkness save for one electric light. A groan, however, directed them. She fell on her knees by Wingrave’s prostrate figure and raised his head slightly. His servant, too, was hurrying forward. She looked up.
“Get me some brandy,” she ordered. “Send someone for a doctor. Don’t let that young man escape. The brandy, quick!”
She forced some between his lips. There was already a spot of blood upon the gown which, a few minutes ago, had seemed so immaculate. One of the ornaments fell from her hair. It lay unnoticed by her side. Suddenly Wingrave opened his eyes. She saw at once that he was conscious and that he recognized her.
“Don’t move, please,” she begged. “It will be better for you not to speak. The doctor will be here directly.”
He nodded.
“I don’t think that I am much hurt,” he said slowly. “Your young friend was a born bungler!”
She shuddered, but said nothing.
“How on earth,” he asked, “did you get here?”