Kind Ted hurried back, splashing an overfull tumbler of water as he came, on the polished oak floor.
She sipped a little, but her hands shook so much that I had to hold the glass for her.
“Cheero, old girl,” said Ted, patting her cheek, but Essie did not cheero.
“The lady ought to lie down,” said the old woman who had opened the door to us. “There’s a sofy in the morning-room.”
I supported Essie into an octagonal room leading out of the great hall, and laid her on a spacious divan of dim red damask.
“Leave her alone with me for a bit,” I said to Ted. “She is overwrought. We made a very early start.”
“I seem to have gone blind,” she whispered when Ted had departed. “Everything is black.”
“You turned faint. You will be all right in a few minutes.”
“Shall I? Would you mind telling me, Beatrice, is there—is there a picture over the fireplace?”