The young man, still vacantly smiling, was fumbling at his breast pocket.  He began to talk incoherently in good, nasal New York, at the mere sound of which Lady Anstruthers made a little yearning step forward.

“Superior any other,” he muttered.  “Tabulator spacer—­marginal release key—­call your ’tention—­instantly—­’justable—­Delkoff—­no equal on market.”  And having found what he had fumbled for, he handed a card to Miss Vanderpoel and sank unconscious on her breast.

“Let me support him, Miss Vanderpoel,” said Westholt, starting forward.

“Never mind, thank you,” said Betty.  “If he has fainted I suppose he must be laid flat on the ground.  Will you please to read the card.”

It was the card Mount Dunstan had read the day before.

J. Burridge & son,

Delkoff typewriter co.

Broadway, new York.  G. Selden.

“He is probably G. Selden,” said Westholt.  “Travelling in the interests of his firm, poor chap.  The clue is not of much immediate use, however.”

They were fortunately not far from the house, and Westholt went back quickly to summon servants and send for the village doctor.  The Dunholms were kindly sympathetic, and each of the party lent a handkerchief to staunch the bleeding.  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.  To have beheld him, borne by nobles and liveried menials, accompanied by ladies of title, up the avenue of an English park