“He says he’ll wait for me for a thousand years,” she sighed. “I told him a hundred would be long enough--heigho! He hasn’t spoken otherwise about marriage all the morning. I almost like him for it.” The subject of conversation strolled into the room a few minutes later. He was looking haggard, Bobbie thought, and remarkably unattractive. “Good morning, Mr. Selsbury--you have not seen Aunt Lizzie? I wished to condole with her. It is terrible when lovers are parted--but how terrible for you! Double Dan, you say? It makes my flesh creep. Yet”--his admiring eyes beamed upon his hostess--“yet our little Diana did not fear! Ah, that was most wonderful. But tell me--who is Aunt Lizzie?” “A friend of mine,” said Diana shortly. Dempsi shook his head in sorrow. “I shall never forgive myself for shooting Superbus--in the toe,” he said in a tone of bitter regret. Bobbie laughed. “You sound as though you’d like to have shot him through the head,” he said, and Mr. Dempsi recoiled before the bloodthirsty suggestion. “I? Heaven forbid! I admire Superbus. He is to me most admirable.” “He shouldn’t have slept,” said Diana. “He promised me that if he did fall off, he would have one eye open. Those were his words. I don’t know how he would manage, but he was so confident that I didn’t come down to look.” She ran to the door. The tap, tap of a stick on the parquet floor of the hall announced the coming of the invalid, his right foot a picturesque cushion of white bandages. There was a crutch under one arm, and he heaved himself forward in jerks. To Diana he accorded a wan smile. Bobbie took one arm, Mr. Dempsi the other. They reached the sofa to the accompaniment of many grunts and “ughs.” “You are feeling better, Mr. Superbus?” He shook his head, being unwilling at this early stage to dispense with the anxiety, the care and the apprehension that was his due. “Middling, ma’am, middling. Naturally, I’m a little bit shook up. I always get that way when I figure in a shooting affray--if I may use the term--and I’ve been in a few in my time. I’ll tell you about them one day, miss. But this, in a way, is the worst, and I admit I don’t feel up to the mark. What my good lady will say when she finds I’ve lost a toe----” He shook his head mournfully. Diana tried to cheer him. “I’m sure she won’t make a fuss, Mr. Superbus. Women are very brave in such moments of trial. And a toe more or less isn’t essential to married happiness.” Mr. Superbus wasn’t so sure, being at that moment in his most sentimental mood. His eyes were moist. “It’s a dreadful thing to think, ma’am,” he said, his lip a-tremble, “that only yesterday that little toe of mine was alive and well; to-day--where is it?” Mr. Dempsi covered his eyes with his long, thin hand. “And I did it,” he said, his bosom heaving. “Don’t take on so, sir”--Julius had the air of a Christian martyr excusing the lions. “Why, it might have happened to any gentleman. I wish you’d shot him--or her.”