She obeyed.
"Nothing broken, I guess," she answered. "What a miracle! Please leave me, now. I can wash my own hurt. Go—go find Herrick! He needs you worse than I do!"
"No he doesn't!" blurted Gabriel with such conviction that she understood.
"You mean?" she queried, as he brought the dipper of now tepid water to her side. "He—he's dead?"
"Dead! Yes, I understand!" she interpreted his silence. "You needn't tell me. I know!"
He nodded.
"Yes," said he. "Your chauffeur has paid the penalty of trying to drive a six-cylinder car with alcohol. Now, think no more of him! Here, let me see how badly you're cut."
"Let me sit up, first," she begged. "I—I'm not hurt enough to be lying here like—like an invalid!"
She tried to rise, but with a strong hand on her shoulder he forced her back. She shuddered, with the horror of the chauffeur's death strong upon her.