“But it was not purposely done?”
“No, I suppose not, as it occasioned her the great inconvenience of stepping off into the mud, but it was sheer carelessness all the same. I was crossing the road, and it was a case of being run over by a hansom, or biked over; I preferred the latter.”
“Did you find out who she was?” he asked.
“Yes,” replied Jill, feeling in her pocket. “I have her card. She was very gracious, and wished me to apply to her if I wanted money, hinting delicately at a doctor’s fee, or something of the sort. I took her card out of curiosity, and walked into the nearest chemists’, having the satisfaction of hearing her say to someone as I went, that she would see that I had compensation, poor girl! so stupid to have run right in front of her wheel.”
“Prig!” muttered St. John.
“There’s the card. You can throw it into the fire when you’ve done with it; I shall make no application.”
He took it from her, glanced at it, and then gave vent to an involuntary exclamation of surprise. Jill looked up.
“You know the name?” she questioned.
“Rather!”
“A friend of yours?”