The casualties of the previous evening had been found to be augmented by two, since Mrs. Selwyn had remained in bed throughout the day, under the impression that she was suffering from shock, whilst Garth Trent was discovered to have dislocated his shoulder, and had been compelled to keep his room by medical orders.
In endeavouring to shield Tim, as they crashed to the ground together from the tottering staircase, Trent had fallen undermost, receiving the full brunt of the fall; and a dislocated shoulder and a severe shaking, which had left him bruised and sore from head to foot, were the consequences.
Characteristically, he had maintained complete silence about his injury, composedly accompanying Sara back to Greenacres in his car, and he had just been making his way out of the house when he had quietly fainted away on to the floor. After which, the Herricks had taken over command.
“I think,” remarked Molly pertinently, “you might as well turn Greenacres into an annexe to the 'Convalescent,' Audrey. You've got four cases already.”
The Lavender Lady glanced up smilingly from one of the khaki socks which, in these days, dangled perpetually from her shining needles, and into which she knitted all the love, and pity, and tender prayers of her simple old heart.
“Mr. Trent is better,” she announced with satisfaction. “I had tea upstairs with him this afternoon.”
“Yes,” supplements Selwyn, “I fancy one of your patients has struck, Audrey. Trent intends coming down this evening. Judson has just come back from Far End with some fresh clothes for him.”
Audrey turned hastily to her husband.
“Good Heavens, Miles! We can't let him come down! Mrs. Durward will be here with us.”
“Well?”—placidly from Herrick.