“I’m all right,” he answered in reply to her question of concern. “It’s this strangulation! Damn such an affair!” he said irritably and sat down. “I don’t understand it, and I don’t want to,” he added, and immediately went off into another seizure of coughing. The others stood around him anxiously, not knowing what to do.
“Oh, please sit down,” said Deane, throwing herself on the divan and waving her pretty arms in little, indecisive movements.
Rio and Carol obeyed her, but Martin hurried into the kitchen and Drew, still pensive, continued to lean upon the back of his chair, watching Roberts as though but vaguely aware of his predicament. Martin returned with a glass of water and putting his arm around the adviser’s shoulders, held the glass to his lips, trying to get him to swallow between spasms. Gradually the spell quieted and Roberts looked up at his friend. Then he took the glass from the other’s hand and gulped the rest of the water.
“I’d like another,” he said, wiping his eyes.
Martin nodded, took the glass and returned to the kitchen. When he came back Roberts accepted the drink more slowly.
“Will you please hold your arm the way it supported me before?” he asked, looking again at Martin, this time with a rather contemptuous smile.
Martin put his hands in his pockets and stared out of the window, his eyes the color of the gray, low-sweeping clouds.
The adviser watched him for a moment, then put down the tumbler of water almost untouched. With a half suspicious expression he now looked around at the others.
“No,” he said distinctly, “I’m not afflicted. And Drew, this isn’t hysteria, so stop thinking of that.”