She managed to walk into the drawing-room; but as he laid her on the sofa, her head fell limply backward, and she fainted.
He stood watching her intently for a few seconds. Then he bent over her, low and lower, till his lips almost rested upon hers. But at this point something checked his despicable impulse—perhaps the purity of her face, or merely its unresisting stillness. Perhaps he chose to defer the pleasure till a more acceptable moment. He straightened himself with a jerk; and hastening into the hall, shouted for brandy and soda-water.
Very soon a faint colour crept back into her cheeks. She opened her eyes and smiled up at him.
"Drink some of this," he said. "It's very weak, and you need it."
She took a few sips and set down the glass.
"Better now?" he asked, and leaned over her again, his hand on the sofa back, his lips perilously close to her hair. At that critical moment, Wyndham's tall figure appeared in the doorway, closely followed by Honor Meredith.
Kresney's back was towards him; and the tableau presented by the pair was equivocal, to say the least of it. For an instant Paul stood still in sheer stupefaction; then he turned to the girl, his grey eyes ablaze with indignation, and she had never liked him better than at that moment.
As he stepped forward, Kresney started up with a stifled oath; and the two men confronted one another, in silent, undisguised hostility, while Honor hurried to Evelyn's side.
"What is wrong with Mrs Desmond?" Paul asked coldly, concealing his natural anxiety for Theo's wife.
"Oh, she has had a spill. The mare came down with her; and she fainted when I got her home."