"Yes," she said, slowly. "He was riding in a steeple-chase not far from here; he has been thrown. They say—" Her lip trembled again. She could not go on.
"But he's not much hurt, not badly hurt?" I cried, in a fury of anxiety. "Do speak!"
She looked at me sadly, but a little surprised; and no wonder. I did not know how loud or how eagerly I had spoken till I saw the coachman look round.
"Father is so fond of him," I said. "I should be so sorry if he were hurt."
"They say only slightly injured; no cause for alarm," she answered. "But one never knows."
She turned away her head. I knew very well that she was crying. I ought to have been sorry; I was only angry.
"Oh, I dare say it's a mere excuse," I said, ill-naturedly. "Men are so clever at excuses. He has got scratched just enough to say so. He didn't want to come."
She turned round. Her eyes were dry again. But she must, indeed, have been a good-natured girl, for there was no trace of anger in her face.
"You don't know him; that's not his way," she said, quietly. And then she added, "You'll try and persuade your father, won't you?"