“Ray’s shot himself,” Conrad said curtly.
She stood rock-still, her jaw sagging queerly, her eyes fixed uncomprehendingly on his face. Charmian went across the room towards her, saying: “Pull yourself together, Faith! It’s no worse for you than for the rest of us. We shan’t do any good by making fools of ourselves. Aubrey, go and fetch the brandy from the dining-room! She’s going to faint!”
Even as she spoke, Faith crumpled up where she stood, with no more than a sigh.
“Go on, Aubrey, quick!” Charmian commanded, dropping on her knees beside Faith, and pulling open the neck of her dress. “I knew this would happen! Do get out of the way, Ingram! I can manage perfectly well without your assistance. She’ll be all right in a moment. It was the shock of hearing that fool Con blurt it out like that.”
“Oughtn’t we to get her on to the sofa?” asked Vivian, hovering rather impotently beside Charmian.
“No, she’ll come round quicker where she is. Anyone got any smelling-salts? Ammonia will do, if you haven’t.”
“I’ve got some. I’ll get them!” Vivian said, running out of the room.
By the time she had returned, Faith had come out of her faint, and was being forced to swallow a few sips of neat brandy. She was trembling from head to foot, icily cold, and a little dazed. She whispered: “Did I faint? Why — what — I can’t think what made me!” She lifted one shaking hand to her head. “Oh, my hair! How stupid! I’m all right now. So silly of me! But what...”
She broke off, as memory came creeping back, and turned her head sharply away. “Oh, no! Oh, no!” she gasped.
“Steady!” Charmian said. “Help me get her on to the sofa, one of you!”