In a few moments his shoulder was bare; not the shoulder of an athlete, but nevertheless of a young man in perfect health. The girl’s soft fingers pressed it gently.
“I shall have to hurt you a little,” she said.
Stranleigh smiled.
“It is all for my good, as they say to little boys before whipping them.”
The girl smiled back at him.
“Yes; but I cannot add the complementary fiction that it hurts me more than it does you. There! Did you feel that?”
“Not more than usual.”
“There are no bones broken, which is a good thing. After all, it is a simple case, Mr. Stranleigh. You must remain quiet for a few days, and allow me to put this arm in a sling. I ought to send you off to bed, but if you promise not to exert yourself, you may sit out on the verandah where it is cool, and where the view may interest you.”
“You are very kind, Miss Armstrong, but I cannot stay. I must return to Bleachers.”