squeaked, he was so nervous. I left him and ran down to her room. Aunt Augusta called out: 'Are you going to Mama, Renny? I don't see how she can be hungry, at this hour!' Well, in her room there was the night-light, of course. I could see her sitting up in bed, clutching her throat. She said: 'Renny, I'm dying. Fetch the others.' You can imagine my feelings."
"Yes. It was terrifying."
"Rather. I asked her where she felt the worst, and she only gave a sort of gurgle. Then she got out: 'My children—I want to tell them good-bye. Every one. Bring them.' I got some brandy from the dining-room and managed to give her a swallow of that. I propped her up on the pillows. The parrot kept biting at me, as if he didn't want anyone near her. Then I went to the telephone, and Drummond promised to be over immediately. Then I ran upstairs. Got them all up. Finch from the attic. Little Wake. God, they were a white-looking lot!"
"And she was only pretending?"
"She had us all going. We crowded about the bed. She put her arms around each one in turn. I thought: 'That's a pretty strong hug.' And she'd something to say to each. A kind of message. Tears were running down Uncle Ernest's face. Wake was sobbing. She had us all going." The red of his face deepened, as he recalled the scene.
"And then?"
"Then the doctor came. Pulled down her eyelid. Felt her pulse. He said: 'You're not dying.' And she said: 'I feel better now. I'd like something to eat.' The next morning she told us that she'd been lying awake and she'd got an idea she'd like to know just how badly we'd feel if we thought she was dying."
Alayne said, through tight lips: "I hope she was satisfied."
"She must have been. We were a sorry sight. . . . And if you'd seen us trailing back to bed! Hair on end. Nightclothes. We were figures of fun, I can tell you!"
