“What's the matter?” asked Miss Patterdale, who had by this time joined Charles in the passage. “Come inside! Good gracious, are you ill, child?”
“No, no! Oh, it's so awful!” shuddered Mavis.
“Here, hold up!” said Charles, seeing her wilt against the wall, and putting his arm round her. “What's so awful?”
“Bring her into the parlour!” commanded Miss Patterdale. “Abby, run up and get the sal volatile out of my medicine chest! Now, you sit down, and pull yourself together, Mavis! What has happened?”
“I ran all the way!” gasped Mavis. “I shall be all right. I didn't know what to do! I could only think of getting to you! I felt so sick! Oh, Miss Patterdale, I think I am going to be sick!”
“No, you aren't,” said Miss Patterdale firmly. “Lay her on the sofa, Charles! Now, you keep quiet, Mavis, and don't try to tell me anything until you've got your breath! I'm not surprised you feel sick, running all the way from Fox House in this heat. That's right, Abby: put a little water in it! Here you are, child! Swallow this, and you'll feel better!”
Miss Warrenby gulped the dose down, and shuddered, and began to cry.
“Stop that at once!” said Miss Patterdale, recognising the signs of hysteria. “No! It's no use trying to tell me what is wrong while you're sobbing in that silly way: I can't make out a word you're saying. Control yourself!”
This bracing treatment had its effect. Mavis made a great effort to obey, accepted a proffered handkerchief, and after mopping her face, and giving several gulps, sniffs, and sobs, grew more composed. “It's Uncle!” she managed to say “I didn't know what to do: I thought I was going to faint, it's so awful! I could only think of getting to you, Miss Patterdale!”
“What's he been doing?” demanded Miss Patterdale.