The truth was, that the chauffeur’s injuries were not so severe as had been supposed--a few cuts and bruises, a slight concussion, and a broken collar-bone. His fine constitution had speedily carried him out of the doctor’s hands, and when Wynyard returned to London, it was to find that his sister and her husband had arrived as a part of the great tide that flows annually from the West. Lady Kesters had heard of her brother’s accident in New York, and spent a small fortune in cables, and now they met again, after a separation of six months, with mutual satisfaction; but, in spite of her insistence, Wynyard firmly resisted his sister’s invitation to take up his quarters in Mount Street. “No, no,” he answered, “that is not in the bond; I’ll get through on my own. I’ve only four months to work off. I can run in and out till I find another place.” “What about money, my dear boy? Your stay in that Italian hospital must have been expensive.” “I was heavily insured against accidents; after my first week with Masham--when I realised his style of driving, I took out a policy for fifteen hundred pounds!” “I wonder you dare get into a motor,” she said. “I don’t see how you can possibly have any nerve left.” “Oh, I’m not such a wreck as all that; and, considering everything, I got off uncommonly well. I’m sure poor Masham was insane. He certainly looked it at times. It’s my experience that there are quite a good-sized crowd of lunatics about at large; I’ve knocked up against one or two lately. Masham always prophesied he would be killed in a motor accident--and seemed rather to glory in the prospect.” “You do tumble into the queerest situations--old maids, dancers, madman! I must confess I cannot understand why you remained with him, carrying your life in your hands?” “In Masham’s hands, you mean!” corrected her brother; “he seldom allowed me to drive.” “And if you had been killed, where, pray, did I come in--or Aurea Morven?” * * * * *