"He was knocked down by an electric car," Bertie said, rushing through the story with headlong ardour, "trying to save his best girl's dog from being run over. He did save it, but he was frightfully hurt—paralysed for months. It's years ago now. I was only a little shaver at the time. But I shall never forget it. He always was good to me, and I thought he was done for."
"And the girl?" asked Dot rather breathlessly.
"Married an English nobleman," he rejoined, with a brevity that spoke volumes. "I say, what about those cakes? Hadn't we better begin?"
Dot turned her attention to the fire. "I should like to meet your brother," she remarked. "I've never spoken to a real flesh-and-blood hero in my life."
"Nothing easier," said Bertie promptly. "Come over and have tea. Come this afternoon, you and Ralph."
But Dot hesitated in evident doubt. "I don't know what Dad would say," she said.
"Oh, rats! He wouldn't mind. And my mother would be delighted. Come early and I'll show you the hunters. Nap has just bought a beauty. She's a blood mare, black as ink."
"Like Nap," said Dot absently; then in haste, "No, I didn't mean that. I wasn't thinking."
Bertie was looking at her shrewdly. "What do you know about Nap?" he said.
She coloured deeply. "Nothing, nothing whatever. I only know him by sight."