“I didn’t know you were here,” he said, simply.
“Excuse my left hand,” she answered, quietly, as she extended it. “I’ve had a little accident.”
Wingfield started perceptibly. The expression in his black eyes changed to one of the deepest anxiety, and the blush slowly ebbed from his face.
“An accident?” he stammered.
“Oh—nothing serious,” she answered, touched by the evident strength of his feeling. “It’s only the small bone of my right arm. I fell down yesterday and broke it. It’s in splints, of course, so I have to use my left.”
“And you’re—you’re not taking care of yourself? With a broken arm?” He seemed amazed, not having had much experience of broken limbs—his own were solid. “But you ought to be at home—”
Katharine laughed a little.
“I’m staying here with aunt Maggie,” she answered. “I could scarcely have any better care, could I?”
“Oh—I see. Yes.” But he did not seem satisfied.
He turned to Bright, shook hands, and then sat down.