knew she must hasten. "But you must, you know. The heat and your long ride have made you faint."
"I—I'm afraid so. It—won't—last."
"Wait, then. You must take a little wine; you need it." Roused to sympathy, Lady Thryng left her a moment and returned immediately with a glass of wine, which she held to her lips with her own hand. "There, you will soon be better. Here is a fan. It really is very warm. Indeed, you must have tea before you go."
She took her passive hand and led her out on the terrace unresisting, and again Cassandra was minded to throw her arms about the lovely woman's neck, who was so sweet and kind, and sob on her bosom and tell her all—but David had his own reasons, and she would not.
"Do you stay long in England?"
"I am going to-morrow. Oh!" she exclaimed, as they stepped out, and she saw the number of elaborately dressed guests moving about and gayly chatting and laughing. "I can't go out there. I am a strangah." It was a low melancholy wail as she said it, and long afterward Lady Thryng remembered that moaning cry, "I am a strangah."
"No, no. You are an American and a very beautiful one. Come, they will be glad to meet you. Give me your name again."