"I know. But he ought to see somebody--a doctor. There was the
queerest light in his eyes.... And he spoke strangely, as if he heard
things. Who's the great man for--for brain trouble?"
"Sperm," said Lady Touchstone placidly. "But you're racking my brains
for nothing. Anthony Lyveden's not----"
"I know he isn't!" cried Valerie. "That's what makes me certain
there's something wrong. He's doing something, or taking something, or
being given something, that's affecting his mind. It's not internal;
it's some outside influence. If he didn't care, it'd be different.
But he does. He said so. But he didn't seem to have room for me and
the estate at the same time. It had to be one or the other. It was
like a bad dream--past dispute, but illogical."
"I should write to John Forest," said her aunt. "Ask him to come and
stay. He's a wise man. I don't feel equal to telling you what to do.
I don't know what to tell you. If you'd come back and said that he
wouldn't see you, I was going to Chorley Wood----"
"Chipping Norton," corrected Valerie.
"Well, Chipping Norton--myself. I was going to kneel down in the mud
and refuse to get up. I was going to wear that blue face-cloth that we
both hate. I'd got it all worked out. But, from what you tell me,
there's apparently nothing for me to kneel for."
"Nothing whatever," said her niece. "He's given me everything,
and--I've come empty away," she added miserably.
Lady Touchstone rose and stooped to kiss the girl tenderly.
"Take my advice," she said, "and write to John Forest to-night. And
now don't fret. You're a thousand times better off than you were four
days ago. For one thing, you know where he is. What's more, he's
content to let bygones be bygones. My darling, you've much to be
thankful for. And now go and take a hot bath, and try and get a nap
before dinner. Poor child, you must be dead tired."
With a sudden movement Valerie threw her arms about her aunt's neck.
"I don't know why you're so good to me," she said.
Then she kissed her swiftly and, getting upon her feet, passed up the
broad stairs.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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