Rolph looked daggers at him, and then closed his eyes and groaned, as he lay back on a sofa in the library.
“Have—have you telegraphed—sent a telegram?” said Rolph, after lying back with his eyes closed for a few minutes.
“I have sent for Mr Oldroyd,” said Sir John, “and we will go by his advice. It would take a man half an hour to gallop to the station. We shall have the doctor here long before that.”
Rolph looked round, partly for help, partly to see who was to be the next man attacked, and then closed his eyes, and lay breathing heavily.
“I wish you wouldn’t bring in those confounded—eh? Who’s there?” said Sir John. “Oh, you, my dear. No, you can’t do any good. Go and talk to Miss Alleyne. Fit of indigestion coming on the top of a lot of physical exertion—training and that sort of thing. He’ll be better soon.”
Glynne, who had come to the door, closed it and went away, while Rolph uttered a groan.
“I was saying,” continued Sir John, “I wish you wouldn’t bring those confounded things into the house. You will be poisoning us some day.”
“What nonsense, Jack!” cried the major. “I tell you the fungi were perfectly good. You ate some of them yourself. How do you feel?”
“Oh, I’m all right.”
“So is Mr Alleyne; so are the girls; so am I. It is not the mushrooms, I’m sure. More likely your wine. We are all as well as can be.”