“Don't be silly, Rose,” said Lady Bazelhurst. “Where is she, Hodder?”
“In the laundry, your ladyship. There are two fractures.”
“By Jove, two legs instead of one, then—worse than I thought,” cried Bazelhurst, draining his glass.
“Send at once for a doctor, Hodder, and take her to her room. Is n't it annoying,” said her ladyship. “It's so difficult to keep a cook in the mountains.”
“Don't see how she can get away without legs,” observed De Peyton.
“I'll come with you, Hodder. Perhaps I can do something for her,” said Penelope, following the butler from the room.
“Don't take too many patients on your hands, my dear,” called the mistress, with a shrill laugh.
“Yes; remember to-morrow,” added the duke. Then, suddenly: “I believe I'll lend a hand.” He hurried after Penelope, rather actively for him.
Lord Bazelhurst visited his wife's room later in the night, called there by a more or les: peremptory summons. Cecil had been taking time by the forelock in anticipation of Shaw's descent in the morning and was inclined to jocundity.
“Cecil, what do you think of Penelope's attitude toward Mr. Shaw?” she asked, turning away from the window which looked out over the night in the direction of Shaw's place.