There was a slight laugh, checked instantly, and a gentleman stood by her side, close enough for Dorothea to make out the clerical dress, and a grave rather colourless face.
"I am afraid they have been broken," he said. "Are you sure you are not, hurt yourself?"
"Did it hurt you? Oh, I hope not," said Dorothea.
"Hurt! Oh no!" Dorothea looked up, smiling. "Only I'm so dreadfully blind without glasses. I shouldn't know my own father."
Then a recollection flashed across her of the "turkey and plum-pudden," and of the Colonel's agony of mind if he had to wait.
"But I am afraid I must make haste home," she added. "Could somebody get a cab for—"
"For Mrs. Effingham," as she hesitated. "The hansom will take her home. And you?"
"I live close by—only two streets off. I do hope Mrs. Effingham isn't much hurt," Dorothea went on anxiously.
"My dear, I should have been but for you," said Mrs. Effingham.