“Not hurt! Why, you are bleeding.”
“Am I?” said Jack, gravely and curtly. “It will do me good. Don’t you be alarmed, miss. I am used to being upset, and my bones are too hard to break. Good-night.”
And he made for the pavement pretty steadily. But a hand, soft and warm, and strong also, stayed him.
“Stop,” said Lady Bell; “I am sure you are hurt. How did you come to be run over?”
“Got in the way of the horse, I suppose,” said Jack, quietly. “That is the usual way.”
“But—but,” said Lady Bell; and she looked at the handsome face scrutinizingly.
Then she stopped, for her scrutiny had discovered two facts; first, that the individual who had been run over was a gentleman; secondly, that he had been drinking.
“Wait,” she said, still keeping her hand on his arm; “you are not fit to go alone without some assistance, and I am sure you are hurt. Look, you are bleeding.”
“A mere nothing,” said Jack; “don’t trouble. Allow me to put you in—I shall get home all right.”
Lady Bell, still keeping her eyes fixed on his face, shook her head.