him. What can be done with him?"

Miss Vanderpoel looked at her sister.

"Will you allow him to be carried to the house temporarily, Rosy?" she
asked. "There is apparently nothing else to be done."

"Yes, yes," said Lady Anstruthers. "How could one send him away, poor
fellow! Let him be carried to the house."

Miss Vanderpoel smiled into Lord Dunholm's much approving, elderly eyes.

"G. Selden is a compatriot," she said. "Perhaps he heard I was here and
came to sell me a typewriter."

Lord Westholt returning with two footmen and a light mattress, G. Selden
was carried with cautious care to the house. The afternoon sun,
breaking through the branches of the ancestral oaks, kindly touched his
keen-featured, white young face. Lord Dunholm and Lord Westholt each
lent a friendly hand, and Miss Vanderpoel, keeping near, once or twice
wiped away an insistent trickle of blood which showed itself from
beneath the handkerchiefs. Lady Dunholm followed with Lady Anstruthers.

Afterwards, during his convalescence, G. Selden frequently felt with
regret that by his unconsciousness of the dignity of his cortege at the
moment he had missed feeling himself to be for once in a position
he would have designated as "out of sight" in the novelty of its
importance. To have beheld him, borne by nobles and liveried menials,
accompanied by ladies of title, up the avenue of an English park on his
way to be cared for in baronial halls, would, he knew, have added a
joy to the final moments of his grandmother, which the consolations of
religion could scarcely have met equally in competition. His own point
of view, however, would not, it is true, have been that of the old woman
in the black net cap and purple ribbons, but of a less reverent nature.
His enjoyment, in fact, would have been based upon that transatlantic
sense of humour, whose soul is glee at the incompatible, which would
have been full fed by the incongruity of "Little Willie being yanked
along by a bunch of earls, and Reuben S. Vanderpoel's daughters
following the funeral." That he himself should have been unconscious of
the situation seemed to him like "throwing away money."

The doctor arriving after he had been put to bed found slight concussion
of the brain and a broken leg. With Lady Anstruthers' kind permission,
it would certainly be best that he should remain for the present where
he was. So, in a bedroom whose windows looked out upon spreading lawns
and broad-branched t