He took Dorothy's arm and led her out into the hall.
"See here, little girl," he began, "you are not to blame yourself in any way for this. If any one was at fault it was I. I saw how he—felt, and should not have tantalized him."
"It was simply an accident," argued Dorothy feebly.
"Certainly," answered Tom; "but Ned was out of sorts. He seemed to have a personal grudge against me."
"Oh, you must have imagined that," answered Dorothy. "Ned is sensitive, but not—unreasonable."
Tom pressed her hand warmly in parting. The action brought warm color to her cheeks. He was trying to cheer her, of course, but Ned would not have liked it.
When the doctor had left, Mrs. White told the major that her son's hip was hurt.
"And that does take so long to mend," she lamented. "The hip is such a network of ligaments."
Acting on the doctor's advice, the injured young man was made comfortable in the library for the night. Nat wanted to stay with him—there were plenty of divans and couches that might be used in the emergency—but Mrs. White insisted upon caring for the boy herself. She noticed he was becoming feverish, and so hurried the others off to bed that the house might be quiet.
Dorothy took Ned's warm hand in hers and touched his forehead with her lips. But she knew better than to utter one word—he must be quiet, very quiet.