"We will go in the garden way," said Dot. "It's only just across the road." He halted terribly in the descent, and glancing at him in some anxiety she saw that his lips were tightly closed. Overwhelming pity for the man overcame her awkwardness, and she spoke sharply over her shoulder. "Bertie, come and take my place! You know what to do better than I do." In an instant Bertie was beside her, had slipped his arm under his brother's shoulder, and taken his weight almost entirely off the crutch. His active young strength bore the great burden unfalteringly and with immense tenderness, and there ran through Dot, watching from above, a queer little indefinable thrill that made her heart beat suddenly faster. He certainly was a nice boy, as he himself had declared. "That didn't hurt so badly, eh, old chap?" asked the cheery voice. "Come along, Dot. You can give him a hand now while I fetch the car round. There are no steps to the Rectory, so he will be all right." His airy friendliness banished the last of Dot's confusion. With a keen sense of relief she obeyed him. Those few seconds of a common solicitude had bridged the gulf at least temporarily. "This is real good of you," Lucas Errol said, as he took her arm again. "And it's a luxury I ought not to indulge in, for I can walk alone on the flat." "Oh, it is horrid for you!" she said with vehemence. "How ever do you bear it?" "We can all of us bear what we must," he said, smiling whimsically. "But we don't all of us do it well," said Dot, as she opened the Rectory gate. "I guess that's a good deal a matter of temperament," said the American. "A fellow like Nap, for instance, all hustle and quicksilver, might be expected to kick now and then. One makes allowances for a fellow like that." "I believe you make allowances for everyone," said Dot, impetuously. "Don't you?" he asked. "No, I am afraid I don't." There was a pause. The garden door was closed behind them. They stood alone. Lucas Errol's eyes travelled over the stretch of lawn that lay between them and the house, dwelt for a few thoughtful seconds upon nothing in particular, and finally sought those of the girl at his side. "One must be fair, Miss Waring," he said gently. "I can't imagine you being deliberately unfair to anyone." She flushed again. There was something in his manner that she could not quite fathom, but it was something that she could not possibly resent. "Not deliberately--of course," she said after a moment, as he waited for an answer. "Of course not," he agreed, in his courteous, rather tired voice. "If, for instance, you were out with a friend and met a scorpion in a rage who stung you both, you'd want to take it out of the scorpion, wouldn't you, not the friend?" She hesitated, seeing in a flash the trend of the conversation, and unwilling to commit herself too deeply.