She looked at him steadily, and he felt his cheeks burn.

He was ashamed--ashamed of himself, ashamed of his errand.
"Your mother," he said, struggling to look away from her, "is--a little unwell.

The heat of the room--" She swept down the steps and passed him.

Before he could reach her side she was tugging at the handle of the carriage door.
"Mother," she cried, through the window, "undo the door!" But Mrs.Phillimore made no answer.

When at last the door was opened she was discovered half asleep in a corner.