“The girl’s got a fit—hysterics or something. Said a couple of words and then gasped at me.”
“Poor child,” said Irene, touched.
She approached her, but Minna waved her away with unreasoning terror, and, edging backward, met an oak settle on which she instinctively sat, and, crouching, continued her inarticulate cries.
“She evidently doesn’t want you, Renie,” said Gerard. “What the devil shall I do with her?”
“I’ll go away for a minute—you must try and quiet her. I’ll send Jane to you. Then I’ll come back and see if she’ll bear me to touch her. It’s hysteria. The whole thing has been too much for her to-day—poor little thing.”
Irene made one more attempt; but seeing that her ministrations would perhaps render the girl violent, she retired and sent the maid in her place. Irene gone, Minna grew less excited, but she trembled and moaned and was apparently incapable of understanding words. Gerard arranged some cushions, and the servant administered smelling-salts. On trying to pull off her gloves, so as to chafe her hands, they found the fingers of one hand swollen. The kid was cut, and bloody at the edges, where she had bitten. Gerard left the two women, and, going into the dining-room, explained matters hurriedly to Irene.
“What the deuce is the meaning of it?”
“She’s overwrought, poor child. Think what a terrible ordeal she went through in the witness-box to-day. Hugh was very friendly at The Lindens, you know.”
“Do you think she was in love with Hugh?”
“Perhaps,” said Irene, rather wearily. “But what did she want me for?”