"No, my lord. Captain Kirton."
"Was he seriously hurt?"
"Well, it was thought so. Mr. Hillary feared the leg would have to come off. He was carried to Hartledon."
Very much relieved, Lord Hartledon jumped into a fly and was driven home. The countess-dowager embraced him and fell into hysterics.
The crafty old dowager, whose displayed emotion was as genuine as she was! She had sent for this son of hers, hoping he might be a decoy-duck to draw Hartledon home again, for she was losing heart; and the accident, which she had not bargained for, was a very god-send to her.
"Why don't you word your telegrams more clearly, Hedges?" asked Lord Hartledon of his butler.
"It wasn't me worded it at all, my lord. Lady Kirton went to the station herself. She informed me she had sent it in my name."
"Has Hillary told you privately what the surgeons think of the case?"
"Better of it than they did at first, my lord. They are trying to save the leg."
This Captain Kirton was really the best of the Kirton bunch: a quiet, unassuming young man, somewhat delicate in health. Lord Hartledon was grieved for his accident, and helped to nurse him with the best heart in the world.