Hazel's reply, muttered with the same quiet dignity, was as puzzling to Mrs. Harris as ever. "I am an American, and I love our country too well to leave it for some foreign land." Further conversation was cut short by Mr. Harris, who addressed Hazel. "Did you notice John Thorpe in one of the boats, Hazel?" "I think so; they were too far away to say positively," replied the girl. "Well, here comes Sam, and--and--yes, it's Virginia Thorpe!" exclaimed Mr. Harris exultantly turning to Mrs. Harris. "Did I not say it was possible he had met with a friend? Look how proud and joyous he seems walking by her side. No kink in his knee now. Sound as a bell." "James, I beg again to correct you. Sam is not lame. His malady has something to do with the charming lady by his side," remarked Mrs. Harris. "Oh, I see. She has a pull on him, eh?" "Yes, a most strenuous one, I may add, as you mere merchants speak of it." When Sam entered the room, he was greeted by Mr. and Mrs. Harris with much fervor. Sam had removed his hat in the vestibule and unconsciously displayed the evidence of his night's encounter with the automobile. The sight of the plastered wound on his head caused Mrs. Harris to exclaim: "Oh, my boy, my boy!" and she put her motherly arms about his neck. "All right, aunty!" said Sam, as he lightly kissed her on the forehead. "Never felt better. Just a scratch. Might have been worse. Eh? I guess so!" and he held her at arms' length and grinned at her affectionately. "Where is Virginia? I am sure we saw her with you, Sam!" questioned Mr. Harris. "She wouldn't come in, uncle. Gone on down to the shore. She expressed a wish to find you there." "Oh!" exclaimed Mr. Harris, with alacrity. "I shan't disappoint her. Splendid young lady. Brainy, good-looking, very fetching, eh, Sam?" and so saying, he turned, bowed to Rutley and left the room. "I am thankful you were not killed, and think how much we owe his lordship for having so promptly brought you home," continued Mrs. Harris. Sam looked sharply at Rutley, not having noticed him in the room before. Rutley met his stare with a most affable bow and remarked, "I am pleased to see that Mr. Samuel Harris is able to be about." There was a bit of keen cynicism, a sort of faltering regret in Rutley's delivery, which did not escape detection by Sam. It almost confirmed him in his suspicion that My Lord had run him down in a deliberate attempt to kill or disable him. The impression caused him momentarily to withhold speech, even in his aunt's presence. The incident was noticed by Mrs. Harris, who at once concluded something was amiss with Sam, and visions of dementia occasioned by the wound flitted across her brain. "Dear me! What is coming over him?" she remarked in an awed voice. "He never acted so queer before. Sam!" and she shook him and looked in his face as though she feared some distressing discovery.