"Oh, Max," she said, with a painful gasp, "my raspberries!"
"Damn the raspberries!" growled Max. His hand travelled up to her head and removed the sun-bonnet while he was speaking. "Don't move till you feel better!" he said. "There's nothing to bother about."
He pressed her temples with a sure, cool touch. She closed her eyes under it.
"But I must get on," she said uneasily. "I want to make the jam this afternoon."
"Do you?" said Max grimly.
She was silent for a little. He kept his hand upon her head, and she was glad of its support though she wished it had not been his.
"It must be nearly luncheon-time," she said at last, with an effort.
"It is," said Max. "We will go indoors."
"Oh, but I must pick up my raspberries first, and—there's a whole row—more—to gather yet."
"You will have to leave that job for someone else," he said. "You are not fit for it. Are you quite mad, I wonder?"