“I’m afraid it’s broken,” Ralston was saying, and his hands trembled violently as he softly passed them over Katharine’s arm.
Mrs. Deems was already undoing the buttons of the tight sleeve which chanced to be the fashion at that time. Robert Lauderdale pushed Alexander aside, and bent down over the chair, supporting himself with his hands.
“Katharine—little girl—you’re hurt, dear,” he said, as gently as his hoarseness would let him speak. “How did it happen?”
“It won’t be anything,” she said, in answer, shaking her head and trying to smile.
“How did it happen?” repeated the old man, standing up again, and steadying himself, as he looked anxiously at Ralston.
But Ralston did not answer at once. Across the old gentleman’s shoulder his eyes met Alexander’s for an instant.
“Are you going to tell what you did, or shall I?” he asked, fiercely.
“What? What?” asked old Robert, in surprise. “What’s this?” He looked from one to the other.
“Well—” Alexander began, “it’s rather hard to explain—”
“You’re mistaken,” interrupted Ralston, promptly. “It’s perfectly simple. You threw Katharine down, and she broke her arm.”