"This must be it, sir," he commented. It was a broad felt hat with one side of the brim looped up with a jewel a la cavalier while a fine black plume curled about it. For the first time, attracted doubtless by the head covering, Calvert noticed that the girl's was not the conventional costume one sees on equestriennes either in the Park or along the Row. Nevertheless the habit itself was elegantly plain.
Across from the right shoulder passing to the waist at the left was stretched a broad ribbon as red as war. A great jeweled star moved sluggishly upon it above her faintly struggling breast. The centre of the medal bore a lion rampant in blue enamel. On the beast's head was a royal crown. There was something suggestive about it which awakened his mind to grope tentacle-like for that of which it was reminiscent.
A startled exclamation from Carrick caused him to look up quickly. Fumbling nervously at his shirt with one hand, with the other the wide-eyed Cockney was pointing at the star.
"The guvnor's shiner," he exclaimed excitedly as he drew forth from the folds of his blouse a battered duplicate of the medal she wore.
Barring its condition attributable to time and rough usage it was similar in every respect.
Growing surmise as to its origin and Carrick's connection thereto were interrupted by a tearful incoherence on the part of the reviving girl. Her bosom heaved convulsively, her eyes opened wide and startled into life. She arose to a sitting posture glancing around as a child might who has been suddenly awakened from slumber. Carter still knelt at her side with ready arm for her support should weakness overtake her.
Like the sweep of rose light across a sunset land, the blush of recollection passed over her face, as the full details of the catastrophe came back to her and she recalled that, inevitably, this stranger had held her in his arms while he had performed services strictly feminine. Her eyes retreated behind the satin sheen of their lids. She struggled to her feet.
"Pardon, monsieur," she addressed him in the French of St. Germain. "Where is my gentleman? And my horses, where are they? Horses, hereabouts, are strangers to the automobile."
"Both have bolted, mademoiselle, doubtless for that very reason. I feel very guilty, I assure you. I hope and pray that you are not seriously hurt. I assure you that I would have given anything to have spared you that fall. Can you ever forgive me? Will you let me make amends?"
As one born of high places, she raised her eyes straight and frankly to his. Reading sincere regret and pain in the face of this handsome stranger, she smiled as she generously held out her hand.