Her voice seemed to herself a sigh—the faintest—from a great distance.
"The servants said you were here. Ellen came up to knock, and you did not hear. I was afraid you were ill—so I came in—you'll forgive me."
"Thank you."
Silence for a while. Mary brought cold water, chafed her friend's hands, and rendered all the services that women in such straits know how to lavish on a sufferer. Gradually Alice mastered herself, but more than a broken word or two still seemed beyond her, and Mary waited in patience. She was well aware that some trouble of a nature unknown to her had been weighing on Miss Puttenham for a week or more; and she realized too, instinctively, that she would get no light upon it.
Presently there was a knock at the door, and Mary went to open it. The servant whispered, and she returned at once.
"Mr. Meynell is here," she said, hesitating. "You will let me send him away?"
Alice Puttenham opened her eyes.
"I can't see him. But please—give him some tea. He'll have walked—from
Markborough."
Mary prepared to obey.
"I'll come back afterward."