“Why—we left the dance about ten-thirty—Félicie was bored, and I’d had enough of it—If we only had stayed!—and we motored out to the Red and Black, where we ate and danced a while. We started back about twelve-thirty. You know it’s a long way—we hadn’t been there much more than an hour. Coming back we were both full of pep and decided to race everything we saw. We didn’t see anything for a long time, and we were afraid we weren’t going to get our chance, when turning into that stretch of road up in Wayland we saw the tail light of a car at the other end. I put on every bit of speed there was and we came along—I don’t know how fast—as fast as the car can go—could go. It was a clear stretch you see;—and then all at once the wheel went silly—just like that! the steering gear broke—and before I knew even what had happened, the car went into the ditch head foremost. I don’t know how long it was after that I came to and shuffled around. It was sure fortunate that that cab should have happened along.” He was talking in little, weary jerks. For the first time Joy thought of his side of the matter—His car smashed, and himself put out of active business on his Class Day night—what interpretation would his parents put on these unglossable facts? “I’m sorry for you, Mr. Jennings,” she said. “Your people—it’s a shame.” He acknowledged this with a nod that showed the subject had occurred to him before. “Nothing really matters if Félicie comes out all right. All the same—my people will never understand or believe how this came about—or get over it.” “Older people are that way,” said Joy. “It won’t get into the papers, anyway—not from this hospital, thank God! And I’ve bribed the cabman.” A step in the halls, and a young man in white linen came to the door. “Dr. Dexter!” said Hal. Joy was on one side of him, as he came to the other. “Félicie—is she—how is she?” “Félicie’s all right,” he said, and smiled meaninglessly at them. “Not a bone broken, although she is bruised and shaken and pretty badly cut. We’ve been taking some stitches—beautiful work——” “But her face—her face,” cried Joy, “was her face cut? Tell us——” “Her face—yes. It was cut rather badly. But it’s been sewed up now, and with some novacain she will have an easy night.” “But will she—will the cuts heal? Cuts do heal, don’t they?” Joy implored. “Oh, certainly, cuts heal. Of course, there’ll be a nasty scar pretty much over the whole of her face——” She blinked her eyes at the white-coated doctor who could say such unthinkable things with brisk, unchanged readiness. “Félicie’s face scarred. She was—she was the loveliest thing you ever saw. The loveliest thing you ever saw.” “I would suggest,” said the doctor, “that you both go home and get a little sleep. Everything will be better in the morning. Perhaps you can even see her then.” “_See her!_” Hal Jennings echoed. Joy looked at his face. Pity, of course—but strongest, the recoil of horror.