the
Den, and he can wheel in on a sofa to-morrow. Now back me up!"

"What does Captain Peignton say? It is he who must decide. He may
prefer--"

"Oh, rats!" The Squire waved impatiently. "He won't prefer. What man
would? Teresa's a fine girl, but that mother is the limit. She'd drive
Peignton daft, mewed up in that little house. I know what I'm talking
about,--what you've got to do is to back me up! You're always so deuced
ready with objections. He's hurt himself here, and he's going to stay
here till he's better. I've made up my mind."

The Squire stormed on, repeating the same things over and over again
until the house was reached, and he led the way through a doorway level
with the ground into a large, bare room furnished with a couple of
chairs, a few cupboards, and a long central table. It was a room used
by the gardeners for the arrangement of flowers for the house, and had
been chosen on the present occasion as offering the easiest access to
the Bath chair. Cassandra's eyes darted past a group of female figures
and rested on Peignton's face, pale and drawn, though resolutely
composed. The realisation that he was suffering put an end to
hesitation, and she swept forward, ignoring an opening chorus of
explanations, and said firmly:

"His foot ought to be raised. It ought to be bathed at once. The shoe
must be cut off."

Mrs Mallison was loud in assent.

"I said so, Lady Cassandra; I said so! I've been talking to him for the
last ten minutes. _Folly_ to waste time! The trap is in the stable,
and we could be home in half an hour. I want to take him home with me,
Lady Cassandra. The best thing, isn't it? So dull for a man with a
sprained ankle,... but he'd have Teresa. Teresa would amuse him. Do
let me order the trap!"

"My dear madam, it's madness. The poor beggar can't stand a drive.
He'd better get off to bed upstairs, and I'll wire for the Swedish
fellow who put me to rights last year. My man knows how to start
operations, and he can begin right away. Marvellous how those Swedes
treat sprains! I was laid up a solid six weeks with the same ankle ten
years ago under a country G.P. Sprained it again last year, and called
in this masseur fellow, and in four days--"

The Squire was safely launched on a favourite story, staring from one
feminine hearer to the other, demanding full attention. Cassandra
turned her head and looked steadily at Dane. She meant that look to be
a ques