"He shall spread it," said the Kiddy superbly, "as thick as ever he likes."
They called Nina to the table. She ate and drank; but Laura's tea scalded her; Laura's bread and butter choked her; she sickened at it; and when she tried to talk her voice went dry in her throat.
And in his chair by the fireside, the old man dropped from torpor to torpor, apart and unaware of them. When he waked they would have to go.
"Do you think," said Laura, "I'd better wake Papa?"
That was a question which this decided little person had never been able to decide for herself. It was too momentous.
"No," said Nina, "I think you'd better not."
It was then that Mr. Gunning waked himself, violently; starting and staring, his pale eyes round with terror; for his sunstroke had made him dream dreams.
Laura gave an inarticulate murmur of compassion. She knelt by him, and held his hands in hers and stroked them.
"What is it, Papa dear, have you had a little dream? Poor darling," she said, "he has such horrid ones."
Mr. Gunning looked about him, still alarmed, still surrounded as in his dream, by appalling presences. He was a little man, with a weak, handsome face, worn and dragged by emotion.