Miss Wilmer came running down the serpentine drive preceded by a barking collie dog to add to the confusion. At sight of Allston she too was inclined to cover her eyes--brown eyes, large and limpid, and, at the moment, big-pupiled--but she conquered her timidity. The collie dog bared his teeth. “Tam,” she called to him. “Tam! Down!” Allston straightened to attention and removed his cap. His eyes were no longer on Roxie. “I’m sorry I stirred up all this fuss,” he apologized. “I--I think something must have happened to the steering-gear.” She may have been interested in the fate of the steering-gear, but she did not show it. Her concern seemed to be wholly about him. “You’re hurt!” she exclaimed. Roxie, still moaning, had sidled close to Miss Howe. “Oh, it’s all my fault, Miss Wilmer,” she choked. “An’ if you’ll let me, I’ll run for the doctor--fast.” The prospect of action seemed to inspire Roxie. She stood poised for flight--her frail body quivering. “It’s good of you both,” broke in Allston. “But, honest, I seem whole. If you could direct me to the village--” “I hope you don’t think me as inhospitable as that,” Miss Wilmer said hurriedly. “Our house is just up the hill. Shall I call father to help you?” He tried his legs again and they seemed to be working. “You’re very kind,” he answered, meeting her brown eyes. “I can make it easily. My name is Allston.” She inclined her head ever so slightly in recognition of his introduction and bade Roxie hurry on. The latter on the instant flew up the road, running free as a wild thing. Allston found himself making his way by the side of Wilmer Howe towards a grassy terrace before a low-roofed bungalow set upon the summit of the incline. Obviously this was a summer home, designed without much originality, but with good taste and ample means; a house, he thought at once, expressing the father rather than the daughter. He would expect something more distinctive of her. Perhaps it was she who was responsible for the grounds--generous and well-cared-for, bounded by a hedge of balsams giving a trace of formality to the enclosure. And yet, when halfway up he paused for breath--his ribs had received a bad bruising--and looked below over the luxuriant meadows in the valley and the symmetrical fields beneath the radiant sun, he thought she must be responsible for all that too. A lean, erect man with white hair stepped through the door of the house to the porch, looking very much disturbed. At sight of Allston he hurried forward, walking briskly and firmly. “What’s this Roxie tells me? An accident?” His brown eyes swept Allston’s face and figure and instantly grew sympathetic. “I hope it’s not serious?” “Not at all, sir,” answered Allston. “My face--” “His car swerved and struck a tree,” explained the daughter. “That’s bad. The road there is dangerous. Come right into the house.” He placed a broad hand beneath Allston’s arm. “The first thing to do is to clean those cuts,” he advised.