Her tone was fainter.
"And what might you be doing here at this hour of the morning?"
"I'm going to Carnoustie."
"Carnoustie! You're going to Carnoustie!--along this road? You're joking! Can you get as far as this, so that I can have a look at you?"
"I'll try."
She did try. It was a distance of barely a hundred yards, but traversing it was a work of time. When the space was covered it was only by clutching at the wheel of the trap that she saved herself from subsiding in a heap upon the ground. In an instant the driver was off his seat, and with his arm about her.
"Is it so bad as that?"
"It is pretty bad," she stammered.
"For the Lord's sake, don't faint! We've no time to waste upon such trifles."
"I'm not going to faint." At any rate the tone was faint enough. Suddenly she seemed to pull herself together, as if stirred by a spirit of resentment. "I never have fainted in my life--I'm not going to begin to do it now."