Colonel Mapleson sprang forward to lift his wife, amazement depicted on every feature.
August Huntress appeared like a man suddenly deprived of his senses, and stood spell-bound, gazing with a look of awe upon the prostrate woman before him, whom he instantly recognized as Mrs. Marston, the mother of Gladys.
Geoffrey, after one astonished glance at this vivid tableau, started forward to assist Colonel Mapleson to bear his wife to a sofa at one end of the room.
“Shall I ring for assistance?” Mr. Huntress asked, rousing himself with an effort from his state of stupefaction, and reaching toward a bell-pull.
Colonel Mapleson turned sharply upon him, with a stern, troubled face.
“Did you ever meet my wife before, sir?” he demanded.
“I—I think I did, once—years ago,” Mr. Huntress replied, shrinking from compromising the lady, yet forced to tell the truth.
“Where?” was the terse query.
“Perhaps,” returned the gentleman addressed, while he met his host’s searching gaze frankly and steadily, yet with conscious dignity; “perhaps it would be as well to give our immediate attention to the recovery of your wife, and allow her to make her own explanations when she is able to do so.”
It was a polite way of telling him that he would say nothing more until Mrs. Mapleson gave him permission to do so.