“She wants to drag him home with her in that shandrydan! Says he’ll be lonely at home, and would have Teresa. Hang Teresa! There’s a time for all things,—a man can’t be bothered with love-making when his foot is giving him blue lightnings. Shake him to pieces driving over those roads! Jevons can get him to bed here, and look after him properly. I’ll wire to that Swedish fellow to come down, and he’ll have him on his feet in two or three days. We’ll put him in the blue room, next to the Den, and he can wheel in on a sofa to-morrow. Now back me up!”
“What does Captain Peignton say? It is he who must decide. He may prefer—”
“Oh, rats!” The Squire waved impatiently. “He won’t prefer. What man would? Teresa’s a fine girl, but that mother is the limit. She’d drive Peignton daft, mewed up in that little house. I know what I’m talking about,—what you’ve got to do is to back me up! You’re always so deuced ready with objections. He’s hurt himself here, and he’s going to stay here till he’s better. I’ve made up my mind.”
The Squire stormed on, repeating the same things over and over again until the house was reached, and he led the way through a doorway level with the ground into a large, bare room furnished with a couple of chairs, a few cupboards, and a long central table. It was a room used by the gardeners for the arrangement of flowers for the house, and had been chosen on the present occasion as offering the easiest access to the Bath chair. Cassandra’s eyes darted past a group of female figures and rested on Peignton’s face, pale and drawn, though resolutely composed. The realisation that he was suffering put an end to hesitation, and she swept forward, ignoring an opening chorus of explanations, and said firmly:
“His foot ought to be raised. It ought to be bathed at once. The shoe must be cut off.”
Mrs Mallison was loud in assent.
“I said so, Lady Cassandra; I said so! I’ve been talking to him for the last ten minutes. Folly to waste time! The trap is in the stable, and we could be home in half an hour. I want to take him home with me, Lady Cassandra. The best thing, isn’t it? So dull for a man with a sprained ankle,... but he’d have Teresa. Teresa would amuse him. Do let me order the trap!”
“My dear madam, it’s madness. The poor beggar can’t stand a drive. He’d better get off to bed upstairs, and I’ll wire for the Swedish fellow who put me to rights last year. My man knows how to start operations, and he can begin right away. Marvellous how those Swedes treat sprains! I was laid up a solid six weeks with the same ankle ten years ago under a country G.P. Sprained it again last year, and called in this masseur fellow, and in four days—”
The Squire was safely launched on a favourite story, staring from one feminine hearer to the other, demanding full attention. Cassandra turned her head and looked steadily at Dane. She meant that look to be a question, and the question received its answer. If ever a man’s eyes expressed appeal, Dane’s expressed it at that moment. With all the intensity which eyes could express, he threw himself at her mercy.
“I think,” said Cassandra clearly, “Captain Peignton had better stay. It will be quicker in the end. Teresa must come up and amuse him here.” She laid her hand on the girl’s arm with a kindly pressure. “You will stay and look after him now, till my husband finds Jevons. There is an old carrying chair in the box-room, which will get over the difficulty of the stairs. Mrs Mallison! shall we lead the way to tea?”