She put on her bonnet, and took it off again; a terrible thing, remember, for Grizel to be in a state of indecision.  For the remainder of that day she was not wholly inactive.  Meeting Dr. Gemmell in the street, she impressed upon him the advisability of not allowing Mr. Sandys to move for at least a week.

“He might take a drive in a day or two,” the doctor thought, “with his sister.”

“He would be sure to use his foot,” Grizel maintained, “if you once let him rise from his chair; you know they all do.”  And Gemmell agreed that she was right.  So she managed to give Tommy as irksome a time as possible.

But next day she called.  To go through another day without letting him see how despicable she thought him was beyond her endurance.  Elspeth was a little stiff at first, but Tommy received her heartily and with nothing in his manner to show that she had hurt his finer feelings.  His leg (the wrong leg, as Grizel remembered at once) was extended on a chair in front of him; but instead of nursing it ostentatiously as so many would have done, he made humourous remarks at its expense.  “The fact is,” he said cheerily, “that so long as I don’t move I never felt better in my life.  And I daresay I could walk almost as well as either of you, only my tyrant of a doctor won’t let me try.”  “He told me you had behaved splendidly,” said Grizel, “while he was reducing the dislocation.  How brave you are!  You could not have endured more stoically though there had been nothing the matter with it.”

“It was soon over,” Tommy replied lightly.  “I think Elspeth suffered more than I.”

Elspeth told the story of his heroism.  “I could not stay in the room,” she said; “it was too terrible.”  And Grizel despised too tender-hearted Elspeth for that; she was so courageous at facing pain herself.  But Tommy had guessed that Elspeth was trembling behind the door, and he had called out, “Don’t cry, Elspeth; I am all right; it is nothing at all.”

“How noble!” was Grizel’s comment, when she heard of this; and then Elspeth was her friend again, insisted on her staying to tea, and went into the kitchen to prepare it.  Aaron was out.

The two were alone now, and in the circumstances some men would have given the lady the opportunity to apologize, if such was her desire.  But Tommy’s was a more generous nature; his manner was that of one less sorry to be misjudged than anxious that Grizel should not suffer too much from remorse.  If she had asked his pardon then and there, I am sure he would have replied, “Right willingly, Grizel,” and begged her not to give another thought to the matter.  What is of more importance, Grizel was sure of this also, and it was the magnanimity of him that especially annoyed her.  There seemed to be no disturbing it.  Even when she said, “Which foot is it?” he answered, “The one on the chair,” quite graciously, as if she had asked a natural question.

Grizel pointed out that the other foot must be tired of being a foot in waiting.  It had got a little exercise, Tommy replied lightly, last night and again this morning, when it had helped to convey him to and from his bed.