“Mrs. Briggs is feeling a little faint, I think,” said West, with perfect composure. “So I suggested that we send for you.”
“Are you ill, Helen?” Briggs asked, anxiously.
“No. It’s—it’s nothing. If you will take me out on the balcony I shall feel better.” Helen passed her hand over her forehead. “It’s so close here.”
Briggs passed his arm around his wife’s waist and walked slowly toward the door. As he left the room he turned. “Make yourself at home, West,” he said.
When they reached the balcony Helen let her hand rest on the rail and drew a long breath. “It was so dreadfully hot in there!” she said, with a twinge of conscience at the covert deceit. But she felt she must keep the cause of her agitation from her husband; at any rate, until she had time to think and to decide what to do. If she were to speak now of the insult she had received, she felt sure that nothing would keep Douglas from attacking West and driving him from the house. She must do everything she could to prevent a scandal.
“‘I don’t pretend to be any better than I am.’”
“We’ll have to send you back to Waverly, dear, and get some more color into those cheeks of yours.” Briggs took his wife’s hand. “Why, you’re trembling!” he said.
“Oh, it’s nothing, dear, nothing. I shall feel perfectly well in a minute.” She let him draw her close to him, and they stood together in silence. “We must go back, Douglas. Some of the people must be looking for us. I’m all right now.”
“If you feel faint again let me know, or go out of that hot drawing-room,” he said. “I’ll keep an eye on you, anyway.”