Frederick Foster, without observing anything unusual in the air, proceeded to present the others.
“Mr. Dawn and Madame Ray, let me present my aunt and cousin, Mrs. Varian and her son.”
Again there were cold, surprised bows on either side, and the next moment Frederick found that Cinthia’s fingers had dropped from his arm, and the heedless, jostling, happy throng had closed in between the two little groups, cutting them off from each other.
“Oh, I say!” he cried, in dismay, “we have quite lost my friends. Will you excuse me one moment while I follow and bid them good-bye?”
But Arthur answered in a troubled voice:
“My mother is almost fainting, Fred. Will you help me take her to the carriage?”
It was quite true what Arthur said. Mrs. Varian’s proud, dark head had drooped heavily against his shoulder, and her face was marble-pale, with half-closed eyes, while her breath came in slow, labored gasps.
Somehow, the sight of Everard Dawn with the beautiful actress by his side had given her an almost insupportable shock.
Frederick Foster instantly became all anxiety and attention, and with Arthur’s assistance he supported her to the waiting carriage.
She leaned back among the cushions with shut eyes, while Arthur stroked her brow and hands with tender touches, and her nephew exhausted himself in wondering what had made her ill.