"A girl who hasn't got eyes in the back of her head is incomplete. What have you done to your hand?"
"Nothing much. Only picked up a splinter somehow. I tried to get it out and couldn't. It will do when we arrive somewhere."
"Let me try," I said.
"Nonsense! A little flower of a thing like you! Why, you'd faint at the sight of blood."
"Oh, is it bleeding?" I asked, horrified, and forgetting to hide my horror.
He laughed. "Only a drop or two. Why, you're as white as your name, child."
"That's only at the thought," I said. "I don't mind the sight, although I do think if Providence had made blood a pale green or a pretty blue it would have been less startling than bright red. However, it's too late to change that now. And if you don't show me your thumb, I'll have hysterics instantly, and perhaps be discharged by Lady Turnour on the spot."
At this awful threat, which I must have looked terribly capable of carrying out, he obeyed without a word.
A horrid little, thin slip of iron had gone deep down between the nail and the flesh, and large drops of the most sensational crimson were splashing down on to the ground.
"The idea of your driving like that!" I exclaimed fiercely. But my voice quivered. "One, two, three!" I said to myself, and then pulled. I wanted to shut my eyes, but pride forbade, so I kept them as wide open as if my lids had been propped up with matches. Out came the splinter of metal, and seeing it in my hand—so long, so sharp—things swam in rainbow colours for a few seconds; but I was outwardly calm as a Stoic, and wrapped the thumb in my handkerchief despite my brother's protests.