Someone was bending over her. She felt warm hands about her own. She heard a voice, sudden and imploring, close to her.
"Avery! Avery darling! For God's sake, dear, speak to me! What is it?
Are you ill?"
"Ill!" she said, bewildered.
His hands gripped hers impetuously. "You gave me such a fright," he said.
"I thought you'd fainted. Did you faint?"
"Of course not!" she said slowly. "I never faint. Why did you stop playing?"
"I didn't," said Piers. "At least, you stopped first."
"Oh, did I forget to blow?" she said. "I'm sorry."
She knew that she ought not to suffer that close clasp of his, but somehow for the moment she was powerless to resist it. She sat quite still, gazing out before her with a curious sense of powerlessness.
"You're tired out," said Piers softly. "It was a shame to keep you here.
I'm awfully sorry, dear."
She stirred at that, beginning to seek for freedom. "Don't, Piers!" she said. "It—it isn't right of you. It isn't fair."