“No. It’s nothing. I’ve been shut up all day. Go and open the other window.”
Shirley threw it wide. “Can I get your salts?” she asked anxiously.
Her mother shook her head. “No,” she said almost sharply. “There’s nothing whatever the matter with me. Only my nerves aren’t what they used to be, I suppose—and snakes always did get on them. Now, give me the gist of it first. I can wait for the rest. There’s a tenant at Damory Court. And his name’s John—Valiant. And he was bitten by a moccasin. When?”
“This afternoon.”
Mrs. Dandridge’s voice shook. “Will he—will he recover?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Beyond any question?”
“The doctor says so.”
“And you found him, Shirley—you?”
“I was there when it happened.” She had crouched down on the rug in her favorite posture, her coppery hair against her mother’s knee, catching strange reddish over-tones like molten metal, from the shaded lamp. Mrs. Dandridge fingered her cane nervously. Then she dropped her hand on the girl’s head.