"I think I understand," said Anstice quietly. "Cherry took up a candle to get a better view of her pretty frock, and——"
"Not exactly," Chloe interrupted him. "She leaned forward, it seems, in order to look at herself more closely in the glass—you know children are fond of seeing themselves in pretty clothes—and, as you might imagine, she leaned too close to the candle and her sleeve caught fire."
"She cried out?"
"Yes—luckily we all heard her." Through all her marble pallor Chloe flushed at the remembrance of that poignant moment. "We rushed in and found her shrieking, and Tochatti beat out the flames with her hands."
"With her hands? Is she burnt, too, then?"
"Yes—I believe so." Chloe's tone expressed no pity. "She tied up her hand—the left one—herself, and says it is nothing much."
"I see." Privately Anstice determined to investigate the woman's hurt before he left the house. "Well—and what then?"
"When we got the flames under we found that Cherry had fainted, and we telephoned at once for you." She stopped short, taken aback by the strange expression on his face.
"Yes—and I wish to God I'd heard your call!" Anstice bit his lip savagely; and Chloe, uncomprehending but compassionate, hastened on with her story.
"You couldn't help being ill! Iris told me how your maids were all in the Park watching the fireworks—and then when my brother and Iris came down you were too ill to come. Are you better now?"