"It is a touch of sun.

He is a little subject to slight fits--very rarely and at long intervals, you know.
He may never have another." A few of the remaining onlookers backed away a little shamefacedly.

Others offered condolences while inwardly scoffing at the "sun" explanation.

Did not de Warrenne bowl, bat, or field, bare-headed, throughout the summer's day without thinking of the sun?
Who had heard of the "fits" before?
Why had they not transpired during the last dozen years or so?
"Help me carry him indoors, somebody," said the miserable, horrified Lucille.

That would get rid of the silly staring "helpers" anyhow--even if it brought matters to the notice of Grumper, who frankly despised and detested any kind of sick person or invalid.
What would he say and do?
What had happened to the glowing, glorious world that five minutes ago was fairy-land and paradise?
Was her Dam a wretched coward, afraid of things, screaming like a girl at the sight of a common snake, actually terrified into a fit?
Better be a pick-pocket than a....