"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Grant. Good-day, Mr. Grey, I may not meet you again to-day. You are not looking very well. Miss Midharst will be delighted to see you. She told me to tell you so. Go to her. You will find her in her own little drawing-room; the Lancaster room I think they call it. I hope your knee is better. By the way, when and how did you hurt it?"
"I—I am a little tired."
"The leg?"
"Yes."
"How did you do it?"
"Strained it."
"Long ago?"
"The night my wife was lost." He shuddered and leaned upon the back of the chair.
"It is his head that troubles him and not his knee," whispered Mrs. Grant.
"Take my arm and come into the air. The air will do you good," said the young man in a voice of grave solicitude and kindness.