They were already in the hall, and while they hurried to the staircase, Caroline asked a few questions in a whisper.
"Is there any medicine that she is accustomed to take?"
"I give her ammonia sometimes, but to-night it didn't do any good."
"Does she faint often?"
"I'm not sure. She has these attacks, but only after—after——"
The woman paused in confusion, and before she could recover herself, Caroline had opened the door and walked swiftly to the prostrate figure, in white chiffon, on the couch in front of the fire. Bending over she felt Angelica's pulse and lowered her head, with its loosened amber hair, on the pillows.
"Your pulse is good. Do you feel better now?" she asked tenderly, for, in spite of the quiet competence of her professional attitude, her heart was aching with pity.
"I was sure I could count on your sympathy." As she answered, Mrs. Blackburn stretched out her hands until they rested on Caroline's arm. "Has Mary gone out of the room?"
"Your maid? Yes, she has just gone. What can I do for you?"
Even in the midst of the emotional crisis, Angelica's manner had not lost a trace of its charming self-possession, its rather colourless sweetness. Her grey eyes, drenched in tears which left no redness on the firm white lids, were as devoid of passion as the eyes of a child.