“No, papa; only a little faint. But you are not hurt?”
“No, no; not at all.” Then, in an undertone: “How very unfortunate!” and he frowned at the shattered chaise as he would have done at its driver.
Brace Norton was wise enough in his generation to see that the less he said the less likely he would be to give offence; but a bitter feeling of disappointment came over him as he found how completely his presence was ignored.
“If it were not for that sweet girl he might walk,” muttered the young man; but the next moment his heart leaped with pleasure, when, after standing thoughtfully for a few moments, and then glancing from his daughter to the wreck and back again, the gentleman spoke somewhat more courteously.
“Necessity forces me, sir, to accept the offer of your chaise for my—for reasons of my own,” he added, hastily. “I will make use of it on condition that you allow me to pay any—”
“Good heavens, sir!” exclaimed Brace, as haughtily now as the stranger, “give me credit for wishing to act as should one gentleman towards another whom he sees with his jibboom—absurd!—whom he encounters in distress—I beg pardon, I mean in—in a strait,” exclaimed Brace, desperately, for his nautical imagery did not find much favour. “I am only a simple officer in the navy, and no doubt a sea life makes me somewhat rude, but my offers of service are genuine, not mercenary.”
The stranger bowed, and turned to his daughter, who was now standing at his side.
“Take down that portmanteau,” exclaimed Brace to the post-boy.
“Yes, sor!” And after a good deal of grunting, unbuckling, and lifting it was placed by the road side.
“If you will allow me,” said Brace, “I will see that the damaged chaise is sent back to its owner.”