Isabel looked up, wiped her eyes, and began to weep more earnestly.  Though Juliet’s tears had moved him to anger and disdain, Isabel’s grief roused all his chivalry.  He sat down beside her and tried to take her handkerchief away from her eyes.

“Don’t,” he said, softly.  “What’s the matter?”

“Oh,” sobbed Isabel, “I’m the most miserable girl in the whole world.  Nobody wants me!”

“What makes you say that?” demanded Romeo.  “Look here, if you’ll tell me who’s been making you cry, I’ll—­”

He did not finish the sentence, but his tone indicated that dire misfortune would be visited upon the luckless individual directly responsible for Isabel’s tears.

“You know,” began Isabel, after her sobs had quieted somewhat, “I was engaged to Allison Kent until you ran over us.  At first I couldn’t go over—­I was so bruised and lame and before I was well enough to go, I got a note from him, releasing me from the engagement.”

“Yes?” queried Romeo, encouragingly.  “Go on.”

“Well, I didn’t think I ought to go over, under the circumstances, but Aunt Francesca made me go—­she’s been mean to me, too.  So I went and he was horrid to me—­perfectly horrid.  I offered him his ring and he almost threw his violin at me, and told me to keep that, too.  I was afraid of him.

“Well, since that, everything has been awful.  I wrote to Mamma and told her about it and that I couldn’t stay here any longer, and she didn’t answer for a long time.  Then she said I would have to stay where I was until she could make new arrangements for me and that she was glad I wasn’t going to marry a cripple.  She said something about ’the survival of the unfit,’ but I didn’t understand it.

“And then, last night, when I heard that Allison wasn’t going to lose his hand after all, I thought I ought to take his violin back to him and try to well,—­to make up, you know.  So I’ve just been there.  He took the violin all right, but he didn’t seem to want me.  He said nothing could ever be as it was before.  I was ready to get married and go away—­I’d do almost anything for a change—­but he actually seemed to be glad to get rid of me and they’ve given my automobile, that Colonel Kent himself gave to me for a wedding present, to that doctor who was out to your house last night.  Oh,” sobbed Isabel, “I wish I was dead.  If you only hadn’t run over us, everything would have been all right!”

Romeo’s young face was set in stern and unaccustomed lines.  He, then, was directly responsible for Isabel’s tears.  He had run over them and hurt Isabel and made everything wrong for her, and, because she was a lady, she wasn’t blaming him in the least.  She had merely pointed out to him, as gently as she could, what he had done to her.

A bright idea flashed into his mind, as he remembered that he was twenty-one now and could do as he pleased without consulting anybody.  He reached into his pocket, drew out a handful of greenbacks and silver, even a gold piece or two.  It would serve Juliet just right and make up to Isabel for what he had done.