I felt her pulse,—it did not need its swift beating to inform me that fever of some sort was in her veins. I gave her something in a glass. She held it up to the level of her eyes.
‘What’s this?’
‘It’s a decoction of my own. You might not think it, but my brain sometimes gets into a whirl. I use it as a sedative. It will do you good.’
She drained the glass.
‘It’s done me good already,—I believe it has; that’s being something like a doctor.—Well, Sydney, the storm has almost burst. Last night papa forbade me to speak to Paul Lessingham—by way of a prelude.’
‘Exactly. Mr Lindon—’
‘Yes, Mr Lindon,—that’s papa. I fancy we almost quarrelled. I know papa said some surprising things,—but it’s a way he has,—he’s apt to say surprising things. He’s the best father in the world, but—it’s not in
