"It was because she saw what I did," he asserted. "It was because——"
"Don't explain," she said. "I'm not asking you to explain or to exonerate her. It's too late for that. But I cannot bear to have you think such dreadful things about me, cruel things, things that hurt—hurt me here——"
She put her hand to her breast and swayed. He sprang to her side and caught her in his arms as she fell, lifting her like a child and carrying her to the bed, terror-stricken at the coldness of her hands and face. He rang the bell, and then with bungling fingers loosened her collar and dress, whimpering the while like a child. "Camilla, my girl, don't look so white. Open your eyes. I believe you, dearie; I've always believed you. Look at me, Camilla. I know you're straight. I didn't mean it. I was cruel to you. I wouldn't hurt you for the world. I love you. You're my girl—my girl."
There was a commotion at the door of the adjoining room, which suddenly flew open, and a figure in a trailing silk kimono glided in, pushed him aside abruptly, and put a silver brandy flask to Camilla's lips. It was Mrs. Cheyne.
"I was next door," she explained jerkily. "I heard. I couldn't help it. The partitions are so thin." And then, with sudden authority: "Don't stand there like a fool. Bring some water—quickly," and when he had obeyed: "Now bathe her temples and give her brandy. She'll be all right in a minute. When I go, get a light. But she mustn't see me here." And, before he was even aware of it, she had vanished like a wraith.
The housemaid brought a lamp, put it on the table, and hovered anxiously in the background, but Camilla's eyes had opened.
"Mrs. Wray is sick," Jeff began.
But Camilla had already drawn herself up on one elbow and gently pushed him away.
"I—I'm all right now. I can't imagine what made me feel so queerly. I've never been—I've never fainted before."
"A little more brandy?"