“I used to think it couldn’t be, myself,” he said. “Well, I suppose one will get accustomed to it in time. I’m sorry I distressed you, Miss Linton—only I thought I had better make a clean breast of it.”
“I’m glad you did.” Norah had found control of her voice and her wits: she remembered that this maimed lad with the set face was there to be helped, and that it was part of her job to do it. Her very soul was wrung with pity, but she forced a smile.
“Now you have just got to let us help,” she said. “We can’t try to make forget it, I know, but we can help to make the best of it. You can practise using it in all sorts of ways, and seeing just what you can do with it. And, Captain Hardress, I know they do wonders now with artificial legs: Dad knew of a man who played tennis with his—as bad a case as yours.”
“That certainly seems too good to be true,” said Hardress.
“I don’t know about that,” said Norah eagerly. “Your leg must be very good—none of us guessed the truth about it. When you get used to it, you’ll be able to manage all sorts of things. Golf, for instance—there’s a jolly little nine-hole course in the park, and I know you could play.”
“I had thought golf might be a possibility,” he said. “Not that I ever cared much for it. My two games were polo and Rugby football.”
“I don’t know about Rugby,” said Norah thoughtfully. “But of course you’ll play polo again. Some one was writing in one of the papers lately, saying that so many men had lost a leg in the war that the makers would have to invent special riding-legs, for hunting and polo. I know very well that if Jim came home without a leg he’d still go mustering cattle, or know the reason why! And there was the case of an Irishman, a while ago, who had no legs at all—and he used to hunt.”
“By Jove!” said Hardress. “Well, you cheer a fellow up, Miss Linton.”
“You see, I have Jim and Wally,” said Norah. “Do you know Wally, by the way?”
“Is that Meadows?—oh yes, I met him with your brother.”