“Is it—is it—” she put her hand to her throat—“Julia?” she brought out desperately.
“No, not Julia.” He looked at her very keenly, very kindly. He need not have spoken the name that followed. She knew before she heard.
She got her breath with a sobbing sound, pressing her hand to her side.
“Oh, not a bad fall,—not bad, Mrs. Essington!” Thair was beside her. She thought he steadied her. “Some of the youngsters lost their heads, got into the fog. He went after ’em—took a nasty fence. Stunned, possibly a broken bone—nothing for the hunting-field,” he smiled to her. He kept her from going to pieces. But she looked through him. He saw he had not reassured her, and was glad she knew, in spite of him, how bad it might be.
“It was too far from the club-house to get him there,” he said. “Must have a carriage and a doctor.”
“Doctor!” she repeated, catching at the word as something to help pull herself together. “Who is there?”
He gave a name and number. She went in to the telephone, dazed, dreamy, not half taking in what had happened. All objects were confused, all thought stunned in her. She seemed to be floating. But the curt professional voice that answered her over the telephone woke her, spurring her faculties to activity. She was kept minutes when seconds were so precious. She could hardly hear him out.
She snatched a flask from the butler’s pantry, a man’s coat from the rack in the living-hall, dragged rugs and cushions from the divans. She was heaping them into the victoria when Thair came around from the stables. The overcoat covered her gown, but the lace was still over her head from which her face looked a sharp, silvery oval.
“The doctor can be here in half an hour,” she said. “Can we take a short cut?”
“I’ll show the man; I’m going to ride,” Thair said, putting her in. He took her going as the thing most to be expected. She leaned from the carriage. The sharp motion arrested him like a detaining hand.