"Get some water quickly, somebody, salts, brandy, anything! Oh, _do_ go away," and she deftly unfastened the collar of the spasm-wracked sufferer.

"Haddon," she cried, looking up and seeing the grinning Haddock, "go straight for Dr.Jones.Cycle if you're afraid of spoiling your clothes by riding.
Quick!" "Oh, he'll be all right in a minute," drawled the Haddock, who did not relish a stiff ride along dusty roads in his choicest confection.
"He's playing the fool, I believe--or a bit scared at the ferocious serpent." Lucille gave the youth a look that he never forgot, and turned to the sporting person.
"You know the stables, Mr.Fellerton," she said.

"Would you tell Pattern or somebody to send a man for Dr.Jones?
Tell him to beat the record." The sporting one sprinted toward the shrubbery which lay between the grounds and the kitchen-gardens, beyond which were the stables.
Most people, with the better sort of mind, withdrew and made efforts to recommence the interrupted games or to group themselves once more about the lawns and marquees.
Others remained to make fatuous suggestions, to wonder, or merely to look on with feelings approaching awe and fascination.

There was something uncanny here--a soldier and athlete weeping and screaming and going into fits at the sight of a harmless grass-snake, probably a mere blind worm! Was he a hysterical, neurotic coward, after all--a wretched decadent?
Poor Lucille suffered doubly--every pang, spasm, and contortion that shook and wrung the body of her beloved, racked her own frame, and her mind was tortured by fear, doubts, and agony.

"Oh, please go away, dear people," she moaned.