“Pray, how do you know all of this, Penelope?” asked her ladyship, lifting her eyebrows. “I 've heard that you see Mr. Shaw occasionally, but you can't be his physician, I'm sure.”
Penelope flushed to the roots of her hair, but suppressed the retort which would have been in keeping with the provocation.
“Oh, dear, no!” she replied. “I'm too soft-hearted to be a physician. I saw Mr. Shaw just after the—ah—the incident.”
“You shaw Saw—I mean you saw Shaw?” gasped Bazelhurst.
“She sees him frequently, Cecil. It was not at all unusual that she should have seen him to-day. I daresay he waited to show you his wound before going to a surgeon.”
Penelope could not resist the temptation to invent a story befitting the moment. Assuming a look of concern, she turned to her brother and said: “He is coming to see you about it to-morrow, and he is coming armed to the teeth, attended by a large party of friends. Mr. Shaw says he will have satisfaction for the death of that dog if he has to shoot everybody on the place.”
“Good Lord!” cried the duke. There was instant excitement. “I believe the wretch will do it, too.”
“Oh, I say, Bazelhurst, settle with him for the dog,” said De Peyton nervously. He looked at his watch and then at his wife. The entire party now was listening to the principal speakers.
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Lady Evelyn. “He won't come. It's all bluster. Don't let it frighten you, Cecil. I know the manner of man.”
“I wish you could have seen him this morning,” murmured Penelope, thoroughly enjoying the unexpected situation. Her conscience was not troubled by the prevarication.