"Dead sartin, Marse Warren."
"Did you look?"
"No, sir. I cain't say as I did. I wasn't anxious to look."
The door opened, with a suddenness which caused both men to jump. It was the Princess. She smiled with relief as she saw the rehabilitation.
"How de do, Mrs. Princess?" was Rusty's polite greeting, with a bow. His formality was growing more impressive, as the acquaintance extended. Here was "quality" indeed—Rusty was a judge of "breed"!
"How do you do, Rusty?" and she laughed girlishly.
Then she turned toward her vassal. He wore a quizzical, friendly, and amusingly pathetic look. The bruises of his trip were evident upon the clear-cut features.
"I am so glad that you made it all right. But how they must have bumped and banged and wabbled and whirled you!"
"I believe I could go over Niagara Falls in a barrel now, without turning a hair."
She saw the hand—with its red wound. She winced, and reached for the hand, womanlike.