“She’s a sad sight, poor thing, so young, so bonny, and so unfortunate. Did you ever see her so before, Janet?”
“Bless you, no, ma’am; there was no signs of such a tantrum when I dressed her for dinner.”
“What do they mean? did they never see any one angry before?” I dimly wondered, and presently, through the fast disappearing stupor that had held me, Dr. Karnac’s deep voice came distinctly, saying,—
“If it continues, you are perfectly justified in doing so.”
“Doing what?” I demanded sharply, for the sound both roused and irritated me, I disliked the man so intensely.
“Nothing, my dear, nothing,” purred Mrs. Best, supporting me as I sat up, feeling weak and dazed, yet resolved to know what was going on. I was “a sad sight” indeed; my drenched hair hung about my shoulders, my dress was streaked with mud, one shoeless foot was red with blood, the other splashed and stained, and a white, wild-eyed face completed the ruinous image the opposite mirror showed me. Every thing looked blurred and strange, and a feverish unrest possessed me, for I was not one to subside easily after such a mental storm. Leaning on my arm, I scanned the room and its occupants with all the composure I could collect. The two women eyed me curiously yet pitifully; Dr. Karnac stood glancing at me furtively as he listened to my uncle, who spoke rapidly in Spanish as he showed the little scar upon his hand. That sight did more to restore me than the cordial just administered, and I rose erect, saying abruptly,—
“Please, everybody, go away; my head aches, and I want to be alone.”
“Let Janet stay and help you, dear; you are not fit,” began Mrs. Best; but I peremptorily stopped her.
“No, go yourself, and take her with you; I’m tired of so much stir about such foolish things as a broken glass and a girl in a pet.”
“You will be good enough to take this quieting draught before I go, Miss Sybil.”