"It is a nervous attack," said Mrs. Chester. "Go and get some wine, Robert, or some brandy."
He was going already, before she told him, and brought back both. Clara would take neither. Awfully vexed at having caused a scene, the mortification enabled her to throw off the symptoms of illness, except the shivering. Lady Ellis, with extreme bad taste, slipped her hand within Mr. Lake's arm as they stood watching her. He moved forward to speak, and so dropped it.
"You must have caught cold, I fear, Clara. Had you not better take something warm and go to bed?"
She lifted her eyes to his, and answered sharply--sharply for her.
"I shall not go to bed. I am well now."
"Colds are sooner caught than got rid of, Clara. If you have take one--"
"If I have, it will be gone in the morning," came the sharp interruption. "Pray do not let me disturb your game."
Contriving to repress the shivering by a strong effort of will, she took up her book again. They returned to the chess-table, Mrs. Chester went on with her embroidery, and so the night went on: Clara, outwardly calm, reading sedulously--inwardly shaking as though she had an ague-fit. Even to herself it was evident that she had caught a violent cold.
"I shall send you a glass of white-wine whey," spoke Mrs. Chester, when Clara at length rose to go upstairs, declining to partake of the refreshments brought in. "And mind you lie in bed in the morning. There's no mistake about the cold."
"How could she have caught it?" exclaimed Lady Ellis, with a vast display of sympathy; and Clara bit her tongue to enforce silence, for she could scarcely forbear telling her. My lady, taking her unawares, gave her a kiss on the cheek.