"I thought I would call, for fear of any exaggerated story getting round," said Nigel, his voice brighter than usual, as he stood with his arm in a sling, looking at Ethel. She lifted a pair of wet cheeks.
"I'm going in to see Tom. You can reassure her yourself," cheerily observed Mr. Elvey, who, being the most innocent of men, never suspected anybody of growing up or wishing to marry. Ethel and Nigel were "the children" to him still. But as he turned away, his grasp fell upon the young man's shoulder, and "God bless you!" went with it.
"I'm not the worse, really. It is nothing—not worth your caring about," Nigel said to Ethel, though the fact of her so caring was worth a great deal to him. "Come here for a minute—won't you?" and he opened the dining-room door. "It was a shock, I dare say, to hear about Fulvia. Things might have been serious if we had not had the river so near; but I don't think she will suffer, after a good night's rest."
"Yes—Fulvia. Oh yes," murmured Ethel, trying to recover herself. "Yes—but it must have been danger—"
"Would have been, without the river—for Fulvia, I mean. Not for me. In the water—no. I am a good swimmer. Even if she had pulled me under, there were plenty at hand to help. Malcolm was wild for a bath."
"I wish I had been there."
"It's a good thing you were not. That was the first moment I could be glad we had left you at home. I shouldn't have liked you to be looking on. You might not have been so discreet as Anice and her friend."
"Why, what did they do?"
"The better part of valour! Most wise, others being at hand to help. I'm not sure that you would have been sensible enough to run away."
"Nobody can tell till the moment comes; I think I should have seen that you were hurt."