“Yes, madam. The girl will receive compensation for it.”
“She was a very ruda girla,” said Angelo from the third motor thoughtfully.
“Wouldn’t you have been rude?”
The Italian spread out his hands, implying that he had not thought of rudeness, but would produce it if it pleased her. The situation became absurd. The gentlemen were again buzzing round Miss Schlegel with offers of assistance, and Lady Edser began to bind up her hand. She yielded, apologizing slightly, and was led back to the car, and soon the landscape resumed its motion, the lonely cottage disappeared, the castle swelled on its cushion of turf, and they had arrived. No doubt she had disgraced herself. But she felt their whole journey from London had been unreal. They had no part with the earth and its emotions. They were dust, and a stink, and cosmopolitan chatter, and the girl whose cat had been killed had lived more deeply than they.
“Oh, Henry,” she exclaimed, “I have been so naughty,” for she had decided to take up this line. “We ran over a cat. Charles told me not to jump out, but I would, and look!” She held out her bandaged hand. “Your poor Meg went such a flop.”
Mr. Wilcox looked bewildered. In evening dress, he was standing to welcome his guests in the hall.
“Thinking it was a dog,” added Mrs. Warrington.
“Ah, a dog’s a companion!” said Colonel Fussell. “A dog’ll remember you.”
“Have you hurt yourself, Margaret?”
“Not to speak about; and it’s my left hand.”