y anything immediately, for Mrs. Davilow followed up Gwendolen's
brief triumphant phrases with--

"Still, I do hope you will not do it again, Gwendolen. I should never
have a moment's quiet. Her father died by an accident, you know."

Here Mrs. Davilow had turned away from Gwendolen, and looked at Mr.
Gascoigne.

"Mamma, dear," said Gwendolen, kissing her merrily, and passing over
the question of the fears which Mrs. Davilow had meant to account for,
"children don't take after their parents in broken legs."

Not one word had yet been said about Rex. In fact there had been no
anxiety about him at Offendene. Gwendolen had observed to her mamma,
"Oh, he must have been left far behind, and gone home in despair," and
it could not be denied that this was fortunate so far as it made way
for Lord Brackenshaw's bringing her home. But now Mr. Gascoigne said,
with some emphasis, looking at Gwendolen--

"Well, the exploit has ended better for you than for Rex."

"Yes, I dare say he had to make a terrible round. You have not taught
Primrose to take the fences, uncle," said Gwendolen, without the
faintest shade of alarm in her looks and tone.

"Rex has had a fall," said Mr. Gascoigne, curtly, throwing himself into
an arm-chair resting his elbows and fitting his palms and fingers
together, while he closed his lips and looked at Gwendolen, who said--

"Oh, poor fellow! he is not hurt, I hope?" with a correct look of
anxiety such as elated mortals try to super-induce when their pulses
are all the while quick with triumph; and Mrs. Davilow, in the same
moment, uttered a low "Good heavens! There!"

Mr. Gascoigne went on: "He put his shoulder out, and got some bruises,
I believe." Here he made another little pause of observation; but
Gwendolen, instead of any such symptoms as pallor and silence, had only
deepened the compassionateness of her brow and eyes, and said again,
"Oh, poor fellow! it is nothing serious, then?" and Mr. Gascoigne held
his diagnosis complete. But he wished to make assurance doubly sure,
and went on still with a purpose.

"He got his arm set again rather oddly. Some blacksmith--not a
parishioner of mine--was on the field--a loose fish, I suppose, but
handy, and set the arm for him immediately. So after all, I believe, I
and Primrose come off worst. The horse's knees are cut to pieces. He
came down in a hole, it seems, and pitched Rex over his head."

Gwendolen's face had allowably become contented again, s