Norah’s grey eyes were wide with distress.
“I didn’t know,” she faltered. “The telephone was out of order—Jim couldn’t explain. I’m so terribly sorry—you must have thought me stupid.”
“Not a bit—after all, it’s rather a compliment to the shop-made article. I was afraid it was evident enough.”
“Indeed it isn’t,” Norah assured him. “I knew you limped a little—but it wasn’t very noticeable.”
“It’s supposed to be a special one,” Hardress said. “I’m hardly used to it yet, though, and it feels awkward enough. They’ve been experimenting with it for some time, and now I’m a sort of trial case for that brand of leg. The maker swears I’ll be able to dance with it: he’s a hopeful soul. I’m not.”
“You ought to try to be,” Norah said. “And it really must be a very good one.” She felt a kind of horror at talking of it in this cold-blooded fashion.
“I think most of the hopefulness was knocked out of me,” Hardress answered. “You see, I wanted to save the old leg, and they tried to: and then it was a case of one operation after another, until at last they took it off—near the hip.”
Norah went white.
“Near the hip!” Her voice shook. “Oh, it couldn’t be—you’re so big and strong!”
Hardress laughed grimly.