“Mother, that was Margot!”
Mrs. Wadislaw heard but did not comprehend what Adrian was saying. She was flushed and panting from her rush after the retreating train and her nerves were excited.
“I’ll never, never—run—for any car—in this world, again!” she gasped. “It’s dangerous, and—so—so uncomfortable. My heart——”
“Poor mother! I’m sorry. I’ll get you some water.”
The young fellow was excited himself but on quite a different matter; yet he knew that nothing could be done for the present and that the disturbed lady would take no interest in anything until her own agitation was calmed.
“No, no. Don’t you leave me. Touch the button. Let the porter attend—I—I am so shaken. I’ll never, never do it again.”
He obeyed her and sat down in the easy-chair beside her. She had been compelled to run else they had been left behind, and she had been hurried from the platform of that last car through the long train to their own reserved seats in the drawing-room car.
“It was foolish; doubly so, because trains are so frequent. There was no need for haste, anyway, was there?”
“Only this need: that when anybody accepts a dinner invitation one should never keep a hostess waiting.”
“But when the hostess is only your own sister, and daughter?”