"Was my coachman at fault?" was the next question.
"No, ma'am. He was driving carefully, and had the horses under proper control; but—"
"That's all I want to know, thank you."
A head was thrust out of the carriage window, and the crowd saw the face—a haughty, handsome face it was—of a white-haired old lady, who beckoned to the policeman to approach, which he did.
"You had better take the little girl to a hospital, if she is hurt," the old lady said, in a tone which expressed neither interest nor sympathy. "I suppose that would be your duty? Well, you know your business; it is none of mine, as my servant, you assure me, is blameless. However, here is my card should you require to communicate with me."
The handsome old face drew back from the window, and the carriage was driven away, whilst the crowd dispersed, leaving only the policeman and one other—an elderly clergyman, who had come upon the scene after the accident—with the frightened children.
"Where are you hurt, my dear little girl?"
Peggy's shocked face brightened at the sound of the kindly voice, which she recognised immediately as belonging to Mr. Maloney, the Vicar of St. John's Church, where her father was the organist.
"It's my shoulder," she answered. "Oh, Mr. Maloney, do please take me home!"
"Of course I will, my dear," he responded promptly, with a reassuring nod and smile at Billy. "What happened?" he inquired of the policeman, who briefly explained, adding that no one had been in fault.