Lord Dunholm helped Miss Vanderpoel to lay the
young man down carefully.
"I am afraid," he said; "I am really afraid his leg is broken. It was
twisted under him. What can be done with him?"
Miss Vanderpoel looked at her sister.
"Will you allow him to be carried to the house temporarily, Rosy?" she
asked. "There is apparently nothing else to be done."
"Yes, yes," said Lady Anstruthers. "How could one send him away, poor
fellow! Let him be carried to the house."
Miss Vanderpoel smiled into Lord Dunholm's much approving, elderly eyes.
"G. Selden is a compatriot," she said. "Perhaps he heard I was here and
came to sell me a typewriter."
Lord Westholt returning with two footmen and a light mattress, G. Selden
was carried with cautious care to the house. The afternoon sun,
breaking through the branches of the ancestral oaks, kindly touched his
keen-featured, white young face. Lord Dunholm and Lord Westholt each
lent a friendly hand, and Miss Vanderpoel, keeping near, once or twice
wiped away an insistent trickle of blood which showed itself from
beneath the handkerchiefs. Lady Dunholm followed with Lady Anstruthers.
Afterwards, during his convalescence, G. Selden frequently felt with
regret that by his unconsciousness of the dignity of his cortege at the
moment he had missed feeling himself to be for once in a position
he would have designated as "out of sight" in the novelty of its
importance.
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