Presently I looked out and saw that he had pulled his handkerchief out and then didn't seem to know what to do with it. Very soon, however, he began to put it to his mouth and I could hear him gasp.
'Do ring, May,' said Beatrice. 'I can see that Mr. Fox is dying for tea after his long drive.'
'Not at all,' Mr. Fox blurted out. 'Not at all. I never take tea, I—'
'Have a brandy and soda, then. Tom always does.'
'Mr. Fox looks quite pale,' said Mrs. Gilmour.
'The fact is,' said Mr. Fox, and his voice trembled, 'I am not very—I am afraid I cannot stop for tea to-day.'
'I am afraid you are not well, Mr. Fox. Last time you came I had the pleasure of pouring you out a very strong cup.'
'I know,' mumbled poor Mr. Fox. 'The heat'—it was drizzling snow and sleet at that very moment—'I want air. I feel I must leave you; the truth is, I am so unfortunately constituted'—here he simply gasped. 'I am convinced that there is a cat in the room.'
'There isn't, that I know of. But if there was—'
'I am sorry to say I am sure of it, from my ridiculous weakness. I have been subject to it from childhood. I cannot breathe—I feel positively faint if one of those animals is anywhere in my neighbourhood.'