“Grim! Don’t!” exclaimed the lady; and at the same moment the stranger’s eyelids flickered and the lashes she had been admiring lifted. The hero blinked and looked up, dazed, into the face bending over him. About her lips flickered a small smile of intense relief.
In a weak voice Hugh spoke: “Have you got a cigarette?”
“Grim, he wants a cigarette,” said Miss Frink, her voice wavering. “Have you got one?”
“Miss Frink,” exclaimed the secretary, justly shocked. “You ought to know—”
“Yes, I suppose so, but you see when the cat’s away, how do I know what you play? It would be convenient if you happened to—”
“Oh, the devil,” said Hugh, as he tried to move.
“What is it? What hurts?” asked Miss Frink anxiously.
“I don’t know, my shoulder, I guess. What’s doing, anyway?” inquired the sufferer feebly, beginning to realize his satin environment.
“You caught the horses and were dragged. Don’t you remember? You saved my life.”