An acute wave of reaction went through her—an overwhelming sense of helplessness. She sank back upon her cushions, weakly gasping. The sunlight swam before her eyes.
“Miss Thorold!” said a voice.
She looked up with an effort, seeing him through a mist. “I am quite all right. Just—just a passing faintness! It is nothing—really nothing!”
She heard herself uttering the words, but she could not lift her voice above a whisper. At the touch of a quiet hand laid upon her own, she knew she started violently.
“It has been too much for you, coming out here,” he said.
“I am quite all right,” she assured him again tremulously. “I am only sorry—to have given—so much trouble.”
“That’s not the way to look at it,” he said.
She felt his fingers close up on her wrist and wondered a little, for there was something very quieting in his touch.
“You mustn’t attempt too much at a time,” he said. “Square told me so only two days ago. You are not wanting to leave us yet, are you?”
The direct question, coming from him, took her by surprise. Her vision was steadying, but an odd flutter of agitation still possessed her. She did not know how to answer him for the moment; then the memory that he wanted her gone came upon her, and she braced herself to reply.