The young men looked on awkwardly, with grave faces, not knowing what to do.

There was something very English in their shy aloofness; in their dislike of intruding in the room unasked.
Musard, looking round from the bedside, glanced briefly at the prostrate figure of Phil, and then his gleaming eyes travelled to the group at the doorway.

He, at all events, was calm, and master of himself.
"The ladies had better go downstairs," he said, speaking in a subdued voice, but with decision.

"They can do no good here.

And will you two"-- he singled out two of the young men with his eye--"carry Phil downstairs?
He has only fainted.