"I was taking a stroll through the meadows and looked in. Mrs. Penfold said that you had gone to the Hall. Coming back from the river I heard the fly, and waited to say 'good-night.'"
"It is very kind," murmured Stella, her eyes still fixed on the useless arm with a kind of fascination.
"Come in and have a cigar," said Mr. Etheridge. "Ah! what is the matter with your arm, man?"
Jasper looked at him, then turned his small keen eyes on Stella's face.
"A mere trifle," he said. "I—met with an accident the other day and sprained it. It is a mere nothing. No, I won't come in, thanks. By-the-way, I'm nearly forgetting a most important matter," and he put his left hand in his pocket and drew something out. "I met the post-office boy in the lane, and he gave me this to save his legs," and he held out a telegram envelope.
"A telegram for me!" exclaimed Mr. Etheridge. "Wonders will never cease. Come inside, Mr. Adelstone."
But Jasper shook his head.
"I will wish you good-night, now," he said. "Will you excuse my left hand, Miss Stella?" he added, as he extended it.
Stella took it; it was burning, hot, and dry.
"I am so sorry," she said, in a low voice. "I cannot tell how sorry I am!"