"What a mess I am making!" The voices around him were still a little tangled, but the hand which held a steaming tumbler to his lips was Philippa's.
"Drink it all," she begged.
He felt the tears come into his eyes, felt the warm blood streaming through his body, felt a little wet patch at the back of the calf of his leg, and the hand which set down the empty tumbler was almost steady.
"There's a hot bath ready," Philippa told him; "some dry clothes, and a bedroom with a fire in.

Do let Mills show you the way." He rose at once, prepared to follow her.

His feet were not quite so steady as he would have wished, but he made a very presentable show.
Mills, with a little apology, held out his arm.

Philippa walked by his other side.
"As soon as you have finished your bath and got into some dry clothes," Philippa whispered, "please ring, or send Mills to let us know." He was even able to smile at her.
"I am quite all right," he assured her once more..