"But even if we send at once he can't be here for ever so long." A moment later, though, she remembered his health, and how bad such news would be for him, with all those miles between, too; and she felt that unless it was absolutely necessary, they must spare him this trouble.
Rowe, the driver, came forward to help her to her seat.

"I think you'd best go outside, missie," he said gently, "you'm looking so white.
P'r'aps the air'll do 'ee good.

I'm afraid you've had a bad shock." "I--I think I have," gasped Kitty, as, very grateful for his sympathy, she mounted obediently.
Then Weller, who had suddenly disappeared, came back carrying a cup of steaming tea and a plate of bread and butter.

"Drink this, missie, and eat a bit," he said, clambering carefully up with his precious burden, "then you'll feel better.

You look as if you hadn't tasted nothing but trouble lately," he added sympathetically, as he arranged the tray on the seat beside her, and hurried down again to escape any thanks.
Tears of gratitude were in Kitty's eyes as she ate and drank; and from sheer desire to show how much she appreciated his kindness, she finished all he had brought her, knowing that that would gratify him more than any thanks could.
She certainly felt better for the food, and more fit to face the long drive home; and never to her life's end did she forget that drive on that sunny June morning--the dazzling white dusty road stretching before them, the hedges powdered with dust, the scent of the dog-roses and meadow-sweet blossoming so bravely and sending up their fragrance, in spite of their dusty covering, to cheer the passers-by.