“A queer feeling.” Filmer made to move on, but Banghurst was immovable. “I don't know. I may be better in a minute. If not—perhaps... MacAndrew—”
“You're not feeling WELL?” said Banghurst, and stared at his white face.
“My dear!” he said, as Mrs. Banghurst came up with them, “Filmer says he isn't feeling WELL.”
“A little queer,” exclaimed Filmer, avoiding the Lady Mary's eyes. “It may pass off—”
There was a pause.
It came to Filmer that he was the most isolated person in the world.
“In any case,” said Banghurst, “the ascent must be made. Perhaps if you were to sit down somewhere for a moment—”
“It's the crowd, I think,” said Filmer.
There was a second pause. Banghurst's eye rested in scrutiny on Filmer, and then swept the sample of public in the enclosure.
“It's unfortunate,” said Sir Theodore Hickle; “but still—I suppose—Your assistants—Of course, if you feel out of condition and disinclined—”