a blush,
'and as Miss Donne was anxious to get home I thought there would be no
great harm if I drove the car out myself. I had hoped to find you in so
that I might explain how it had happened, for, of course, Miss Donne
was a little--what shall I say?--a little----'

He hesitated, having hoped that Margaret would help him out. After
waiting two or three seconds, Mrs. Rushmore turned on her.

'Margaret, what were you?' she asked with severity. 'I insist upon
knowing what you were.'

'I'm sure I don't know,' Margaret answered, trying to speak easily, as
if it did not matter much. 'It was very kind of Monsieur Logotheti, at
all events, and I'm much obliged to him.'

'Oh, and pray, what has happened to Mr. Lushington?' inquired Mrs.
Rushmore.

'I was on the wrong side of the road, and the car knocked me off my
bicycle,' added Lushington. 'They kindly stopped to pick me up. They
thought I was hurt.'

'Well--you are,' said Mrs. Rushmore. 'Why don't you get into the
automobile and let Monsieur Logotheti take you home?'

As it was not easy to explain why he preferred walking in his battered
condition, Lushington said nothing. Mrs. Rushmore turned to her groom,
who was English.

'William,' she said, 'you must have a clothes-brush.'

William had one concealed in some mysterious place under the box.

'Clean Mr. Lushington, William,' said the good lady.

[Illustration: "'Clean Mr. Lushington, William,' said the good lady."]

'Oh, thank you--no--thanks very much,' protested Lushington.

But William, having been told to clean him, proceeded to do so, gently
and systematically, beginning at his neck and proceeding thence with
bold curving strokes of the brush, as if he were grooming a horse.

Instinctively Lushington turned slowly round on his heels, while he
submitted to the operation, and the others looked on. They had ample
time to note the singular cut of his clothes.

'He used to be always so well dressed!' said Mrs. Rushmore to Margaret
in an audible whisper.

Lushington winced visibly, but as he was not supposed to hear the words
he said nothing. William had worked down to the knees of his trousers,
which he grasped firmly in one hand while he vigorously brushed the
cloth with the other.

'That will do, thank you,' said Lushington, trying to draw back one
captive leg.

But William was inexorable and there was no escape from his hold. He
was an Englishman, and was therefore thorough; he was a servant, an