humourous remarks at its expense.
"The fact is," he said cheerily, "that so long as I don't move I never
felt better in my life. And I daresay I could walk almost as well as
either of you, only my tyrant of a doctor won't let me try." "He
told me you had behaved splendidly," said Grizel, "while he was
reducing the dislocation. How brave you are! You could not have
endured more stoically though there had been nothing the matter with
it."

"It was soon over," Tommy replied lightly. "I think Elspeth suffered
more than I."

Elspeth told the story of his heroism. "I could not stay in the room,"
she said; "it was too terrible." And Grizel despised too
tender-hearted Elspeth for that; she was so courageous at facing pain
herself. But Tommy had guessed that Elspeth was trembling behind the
door, and he had called out, "Don't cry, Elspeth; I am all right; it
is nothing at all."

"How noble!" was Grizel's comment, when she heard of this; and then
Elspeth was her friend again, insisted on her staying to tea, and went
into the kitchen to prepare it. Aaron was out.

The two were alone now, and in the circumstances some men would have
given the lady the opportunity to apologize, if such was her desire.
But Tommy's was a more generous nature; his manner was that of one
less sorry to be misjudged than anxious that Grizel should not suffer
too much from remorse. If she had asked his pardon then and there, I
am sure he would have replied, "Right willingly, Grizel," and begged
her not to give another thought to the matter. What is of more
importance, Grizel was sure of this also, and it was the magnanimity
of him that especially annoyed her. There seemed to be no disturbing
it. Even when she said, "Which foot is it?" he answered, "The one on
the chair," quite graciously, as if she had asked a natural question.

Grizel pointed out that the other foot must be tired of being a foot
in waiting. It had got a little exercise, Tommy replied lightly, last
night and again this morning, when it had helped to convey him to and
from his bed.

Had he hopped? she asked brutally.

No, he said; he had shuffled along. Half rising, he attempted to show
her humourously how he walked nowadays--tried not to wince, but had
to. Ugh, that was a twinge! Grizel sarcastically offered her
assistance, and he took her shoulder gratefully. They crossed the
room--a tedious journey. "Now let me see if you can manage alone," she
says, and suddenly deserts him.