"Mr. Byfield, sir," he whispered—"my daughter is ill."
Gilbert got up quickly, and came across to where the little man was standing. "What do you mean?" he demanded in a shocked voice.
"Fainted, sir—gave way suddenly, and became all at once, in a manner of speaking, collapsed," said Meggison, nodding at him slowly. "Never knew her do it before—but it's not unlikely she may do it again. Mr. Byfield, sir—my heart bleeds."
"She must be got away—at once," said Gilbert hastily.
"She must be got away—at once," echoed Meggison, moistening his lips with the tip of his tongue. "Just what I said, Mr. Byfield, sir, as she was coming to. Not a moment to be lost—eh?"
"Not an instant," said Gilbert, beginning to pace up and down the room. "We've waited too long already, Meggison, over that scheme of ours."
"Nearly a week—and nothing done," retorted the other, twisting the skull cap round and shaking his head at it. "Not my fault, of course."
"It's only because I haven't known what to do, or how to do it," said Gilbert, pondering. "But now we must wait no longer; you must take her away at once."
"At once," said Meggison, putting on his cap with an air of determination, as though he had quite made up his mind to start upon a journey forthwith. "All times are alike to me, Mr. Byfield, sir; it's only the question of money." His eyes were expectant.
"It's just the question of money, Meggison, that is troubling me," said Gilbert Byfield, seating himself on the end of his desk, and so facing the little man at the door with folded arms. "If it hadn't been the question of money, and the difficulty of dealing with it, and of dealing with you, something would have been done before."