The alarmed guests clustered about them, asking questions, exclaiming,
and offering suggestions.
"What IS it?" demanded Annette. "My DEAR! What IS it?"
Serena, still clinging to Gertrude, continued to sob.
"I--I don't know," she moaned. "I--I feel so strange. I'm--I'm tired,
I guess. I'm--I'm worn out. I--oh, Gertie, take me home. Take me
home--please."
"Yes, yes, Mother, dear. We will go home at once. Come."
She led her into the next room. Annette, hastening with a glass of wine
and the smelling salts, caught the young lady's arm.
"She isn't going to be ill, seriously sick, is she?" she demanded. "You
don't think she is. It would be dreadful if she was."
Gertrude shook her head.
"I don't know," she answered. "I certainly hope not. Will you call a
carriage, Mrs. Black?"
"Yes, yes, I'll call one right away. Oh, I hope she isn't going to be
sick. It would be dreadful--just now. The election is only two weeks
off, and without her I--we should be almost certain to lose. I know we
should.
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