“Not a bit—­nothing but a few scratches,” she answered.  “Only Mrs. Denman insisted on my driving back with my leg up, and it would have broken her heart if I hadn’t accepted her ‘’assock’ for the journey.”

She stepped rather stiffly out of the car, for her joints still ached, and Barry, seeing her white face and the heavy shadows beneath her eyes, put a strong, friendly arm round her shoulders to steady her.

“You’ve had a good shaking up, my dear, anyway,” he observed with concern in his voice.  “Look, I’m going to help you into the hall and put you on the big divan straight away.  Then we’ll discuss what’s to be done with you,” he added, smiling down at her.

“You won’t let them keep me in bed, Barry, will you?” urged Nan as he helped her up the steps and into the great hall, its ancient panelling of oak gleaming like polished ebony in the afternoon sunlight.

Barry pulled thoughtfully at his big fair moustache.

“If Kitty says ‘bed,’ you know it’ll have to be bed,” he answered, his eyes twinkling a little.

Nan subsided on to the wide, cushioned divan.

“Nonsense!” she exclaimed crossly, “You don’t stay in bed because you’ve scratched your ankle.”

“No.  But you must remember you’ve had a bit of a shock.”

By this time Kitty and Roger had joined them, overhearing the last part of the conversation.

“Of course you’ll go to bed at once,” asserted Kitty firmly.  “Will you give her a hand upstairs, Barry?”

“You see?” said Barry, regarding the patient humorously.  “Come along, Nan!  Shall I carry you or will you hobble?”

“I’ll walk,” returned Nan with emphasis.

“Bed’s much the best place for you,” put in Roger.

He followed her to the foot of the staircase and, as he shook hands, said quietly: 

“Till Monday, then.”

“Where’s Penelope?” asked Nan, as Barry assisted her upstairs with a perfectly unnecessary hand under her arm, since—­as she curtly informed him—­she had “no intention of accomplishing two faints in one day.”

“Penelope is out with Fenton—­need you ask?” And Barry chuckled good-humouredly.  “Kitty fully expects them to return an engaged couple.”

“Oh, I do hope they will!” cried Nan, bubbling up with the instantaneous feminine excitement which generally obtains when a love-affair, after seeming to hang fire, at last culminates in a bona fide engagement.  “Penny has kept him off so firmly all this time,” she continued.  “I can’t think why, because it’s perfectly patent to everybody that they’re head over ears in love with each other.”

Barry, who could have hazarded a very fair idea as to the reason why from odd scraps of information on the subject elicited from his wife, was silent a moment.  Finally he said slowly: 

“I shouldn’t ask Penelope anything about it when she comes in, if I were you.  If matters aren’t quite settled between them yet, it might upset everything again.”