“We came like the wind!  I shall never, never forge:  it,” she said.

“But how could you have remained there, child?  Tell me how it happened.  We have been frantic,” said her aunt, half in English, half in German.

“Not now, dear Aunt Yvonne.  See my hair!  What a fright I must be!  Fortunate man, your hair cannot be so unruly as mine.  Oh!” The exclamation was one of alarm.  In an instant she was at his side, peering with terrified eyes at the bloodstains on his neck and face.  “It is blood!  You are hurt!  Uncle Caspar, Hedrick —­quick!  Attend him!  Come to my room at once.  You are suffering.  Minna, find bandages!”

She dragged him to the door of her section before he could interpose a remonstrance.

“It is nothing—­a mere scratch.  Bumped my head against the side of the coach.  Please don’t worry about it; I can care for myself.  Really, it doesn’t—­”

“But it does!  It has bled terribly.  Sit there!  Now, Hedrick, some water.”

Hedrick rushed off and was back in a moment with a basin of water, a sponge and a towel, and before Grenfall fully knew what was happening, the man-servant was bathing his head, the others looking on anxiously, the young lady apprehensively, her hands clasped before her as she bent over to inspect the wound above his ear.

“It is quite an ugly cut,” said Uncle Caspar, critically.  “Does it pain you, sir?”

“Oh, not a great deal,” answered Lorry, closing his eyes comfortably.  It was all very pleasant, he thought.

“Should it not have stitches, Uncle Caspar?” asked the sweet, eager voice.

“I think not.  The flow is staunched.  If the gentleman will allow Hedrick to trim the hair away for a plaster and then bandage it I think the wound will give him no trouble.”  The old man spoke slowly and in very good English.

“Really, Uncle, is it not serious?”

“No, no,” interposed Grenfall Lorry.  “I knew it was a trifle.  You cannot break an American’s head.  Let me go to my own section and I’ll be ready to present myself, as good as new, in ten minutes.”

“You must let Hedrick bandage your head,” she insisted.  “Go with him, Hedrick.”

Grenfall arose and started toward his section, followed by Hedrick.

“I trust you were not hurt during that reckless ride,” he said, more as a question, stopping in the aisle to look back at her.

“I should have been a mass of bruises, gashes and lumps had it not been for one thing,” she said, a faint flush coming to her cheek, although her eyes looked unfalteringly into his.  “Will you join us in the dining car?  I will have a place prepared for you at our table.”

“Thank you.  You are very good.  I shall join you as soon as I am presentable.”

“We are to be honored, sir,” said the old gentleman, but in such a way that Grenfall had a distinct feeling that it was he who was to be honored.  Aunt Yvonne smiled graciously, and he took his departure.  While Hedrick was dressing the jagged little cut, Grenfall complacently surveyed the patient in the mirror opposite, and said to himself a hundred times:  “You lucky dog!  It was worth forty gashes like this.  By Jove, she’s divine!”