“Heavens, child!” she whispered to her, “what is the matter with you?”
“What should be the matter with me?” said Mary. “What, except—oh, this place is stifling! And the managers boasted that it would be cool and well ventilated at all times!”
“My dear girl, you'll be quite right when I take you into the air,” said Bunbury.
“No, no; I do not need to leave the rotunda; I shall be myself in a moment,” said the girl somewhat huskily and spasmodically. “For heaven's sake don't stare so, child,” she added to her sister, making a pitiful attempt to laugh.
“But, my dear——” began Mrs. Bunbury; she was interrupted by Mary.
“Nay,” she cried, “I will not have our mother alarmed, and—well, every one knows what a tongue Mrs. Thrale has. Oh, no; already the faintness has passed away. What should one fear with a doctor in one's company? Come, Dr. Goldsmith, you are a sensible person. You do not make a fuss. Lend me your arm, if you please.”
“With all pleasure in life,” cried Oliver.
He offered her his arm, and she laid her hand upon it. He could feel how greatly she was trembling.
When they had taken a few steps away Mary looked back at her sister and Bunbury and smiled reassuringly at them. Her companion saw that, immediately afterwards, her glance went in the direction of the officer who had bowed to her.
“Take me up to one of the galleries, my dear friend,” she said. “Take me somewhere—some place away from here—any place away from here.”