Half unconsciously, Armathwaite resented the studied formality of that "Miss Ogilvey." He fully appreciated its intent. He was a stranger and must be kept at arm's length. Moreover, the crippled Percy held him at a disadvantage. The younger man might be as insolent as he chose--Armathwaite was muzzled. "Can I do anything for you," he said. "In what way?" "Well, if the pain is very bad, an extra bandage, soaked in cold water, will relieve the burning sensation." "No, thanks. I'll wait till the doctor comes." "He is bringing a nurse, by the way. You'll need proper attention for the next few days." "Right. Don't let me keep you. I think I can sleep another hour or so." Armathwaite was at no loss to understand why the cub wished to be rid of him. Whittaker was not only torturing himself with the knowledge that his host would be free to enjoy Marguerite Ogilvey's company without let or hindrance, but he also felt a grudge against the fates which had snatched him out of active participation in the day's events. Neither dreamed that the accident would precipitate the crisis each wished to avoid. In fact, in view of what did actually happen, it would be interesting to speculate on the probable outcome if, by chance, Armathwaite had been disabled instead of Whittaker. But history, whether dealing with men or nations, recks little of "what might have been." It is far too busily occupied in fashioning the present and concealing the past, for, let students dig and delve ever so industriously, they seldom obtain a true record of occurrences which have shaken the world, while, in the lives of the few people with whom this chronicle deals, there were then at work certain minor influences which no one of them ever discerned in their entirety. There was nothing surprising in this. A crystal-minded woman like Marguerite Ogilvey could never adjust her perceptive faculties to the plane of a decadent Percy, while Robert Armathwaite was too impatient of ignoble minds that he should ever seek to uncover the mole-burrowings of James Walker. Certain developments took place which affected each and all in relative degrees, and each acted according to his or her bent. Beyond that, analysis of cause and effect can hardly be other than sheer guesswork. Armathwaite rummaged in the larder for a crust, chewed it, and, having thus appeased the laws of hygiene, lighted the first joyous pipe of the morning. He was smoking contentedly in the garden when a bent, elderly man approached. Though twisted with rheumatism--the painful tribute which Mother Earth exacts from those of her sons who know how to obtain her chief treasures--this man quickened into a new life when he saw Armathwaite. He cast a sorrowing glance at the wilderness of weeds as he came up the garden path, but his weather-lined face broke into a pleasant smile as he halted in front of the new tenant.