"My dear madam, it's madness. The poor beggar can't stand a drive. He'd better get off to bed upstairs, and I'll wire for the Swedish fellow who put me to rights last year. My man knows how to start operations, and he can begin right away. Marvellous how those Swedes treat sprains! I was laid up a solid six weeks with the same ankle ten years ago under a country G.P. Sprained it again last year, and called in this masseur fellow, and in four days--" The Squire was safely launched on a favourite story, staring from one feminine hearer to the other, demanding full attention. Cassandra turned her head and looked steadily at Dane. She meant that look to be a question, and the question received its answer. If ever a man's eyes expressed appeal, Dane's expressed it at that moment. With all the intensity which eyes could express, he threw himself at her mercy. "I think," said Cassandra clearly, "Captain Peignton had better stay. It will be quicker in the end. Teresa must come up and amuse him here." She laid her hand on the girl's arm with a kindly pressure. "You will stay and look after him now, till my husband finds Jevons. There is an old carrying chair in the box-room, which will get over the difficulty of the stairs. Mrs Mallison! shall we lead the way to tea?" The next moment the room was empty save for the engaged pair. Teresa knew that the opportunity had been made, and knew that she ought to be grateful, but she was anxious and miserable, and more than a little wounded by her lover's unwillingness to accept her mother's invitation. "I should have _liked_ to nurse you, Dane!" she said reproachfully, and Dane pressed his lips in a spasm of pain, and rejoined quietly: "I know, dear. Thank you, but it's better as it is. I'll be confoundedly glad to get this shoe off, and try what sponging will do. You'll come up?" "Oh, yes!" Teresa said. She leant against the side of the Bath chair, and held out a tentative hand. "I wish it had been me! I'd rather bear it myself a dozen times. It _will_ help you, won't it, Dane, if I come and sit beside you? If I were ill, I'd want more than anything else just to see your face!" "Bless you, Teresa! You're a dear girl," Dane said, smiling, but his eyes wandered wistfully to the doorway. The Squire was right. A man in pain has no zest for love-making. A woman would welcome it with her dying breath. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. REALISATION.