"Good old Nan! She's a well-plucked 'un," was Barry's comment when she had finished.
"Of course it's splendid of her," said Kitty. "Nan was always an idealist in her notions—but in practice it would just mean purgatory. And I won't let her smash up the whole of her own life, and Peter's for an ideal!"
"How do you propose to prevent it, m'dear?"
"I propose that you should prevent it."
"I? How?"
Kitty laid an urgent hand on his arm.
"You must go over to Trenby and see Roger."
"See Roger? My dear girl, he won't be able to see visitors for days yet."
"Oh, yes, he will," replied Kitty. "Isobel Carson rang up just now to ask if Nan would come over. It appears that, barring the injury to his back, he escaped without a scratch. He didn't even know he was hurt till he found he couldn't use his legs. Of course, he'll be in bed. Isobel says he seems almost his usual self, except that he won't let anyone sympathise with him over his injury. He's just savage about it."
Barry made no answer. He reflected that it was quite in keeping with all be knew of the man for him to bear in silence the shock of knowing that henceforward he would be a helpless cripple. Just as a wild animal, mortally hurt, seeks solitude in which to die, so Roger's arrogant, primitive nature refused to tolerate the pity of his fellows.