Minutes seemed to go by. Vague hints from servants, things I had read in the papers—and still I sat there, not moving by so much as a hair.
He was looking at me now and telling me to "keep cool." And then: "I suppose you know there are such places——" He interrupted himself to say: "Remember! A careless look or move would mean—well, it would mean ruin. Now do you understand?"
Beyond a doubt I did. If I moved or cried for help, he would kill me before my aunt could get back; before I could cross the room. Though why he should wish to kill me I could form no idea.
"You must have time to recover," he said, in that muted, uneven voice. "I will shield you while you pull yourself together." He had bent forward till his shoulders shut out my view of the group at the other end of the room.
I shrank further back into the cushions. But: "I have myself in hand, now," I said; for I remembered you must never let the insane know you are afraid.
Betty's laughter sounded far away.
"Take your time," he said. "They're enjoying themselves. They haven't even rung for the cognac and liqueurs yet." They would make Bettina and me drink a liqueur, he said. Or if they failed in that, they'd say, "'a thimble-full of coffee, then.'" And our coffee would be "doctored."
"But we've had coffee," I said, in a new access of terror. Was it drugged coffee that made me feel so lamed?
"That was all right," he said. "That was to steady us."
He did not look as if he needed steadying. What if he were not mad?