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On coming to himself, he found he had been wrapped in a blanket and put to bed with a couple of hot bricks to his feet. Her aunt returned before the packing was done, and Ann Veronica lunched with an uneasy sense of bag and hold-all packed up-stairs and inadequately hidden from chance intruders by the valance of the bed. But if I were dying of thirst, in a desert, I would not accept a cup of water at her hands. “Good,” he said, as he watched the colour come back to her cheeks. “I do not lay claim,” he continued, “to any remarkable amount of insight, but it is possible, is it not, that I have stumbled upon your present cause of distress.
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