He could have tied the handkerchief just as well himself—it was only out of kindly tact he requested my services. I accepted his kindness gratefully. He sank on his knee so that I could reach him, and I tied a large white handkerchief across the injured part. He could not open his eye, and hot water poured from it, but he made light of the idea of it paining. I was feeling better now, so we returned to the ballroom. The clock struck the half-hour after eleven as we left the room. Harold entered by one door and, I by another, and I slipped into a seat as though I had been there some time.
There were only a few people in the room. The majority were absent—some love-making, others playing cards. Miss Beecham was one who was not thus engaged. She exclaimed at once:
“Good gracious, boy, what have you done to yourself?”
“Looks as if he had been interviewing a belligerent tramp,” said aunt Helen, smilingly.
“He’s run into the clothes-line, that’s what he’s done,” said Miss Augusta confidently, after she had peeped beneath the bandage.
“You ought to get a bun for guessing, aunt Gus,” said Harold laughing.
“I told them to put the clothes-lines up when they had done with them. I knew there would be an accident.”
“Perhaps they were put up high enough for ordinary purposes,” remarked her nephew.
“Let me do something for you, dear.”
“No, thank you, aunt Gus. It is nothing,” he said carelessly, and the matter dropped.