Part 1 (2/2)

It was likely to be an uncommonly awkward thing for the Gray household, seeing that it was Mary's right arm that was injured. For one thing, it would involve the dispossession of that year's baby. For another, it would put Mrs. Gray's capable helper entirely out of action.

When Mary was picked up, and stood, wavering unsteadily, supported by someone in the crowd which had gathered, hearing, as from a great distance, the snarling and scolding of the tram-driver, who was afraid of finding himself in trouble, she still held the blind and whimpering dog in her uninjured arm.

She wanted to get away as quickly as possible from the crowd, but her head swam and her feet were uncertain. Then she heard a quiet voice behind her.

”Has there been an accident? I am a doctor,” it said.

”A young woman trying to kill herself along of an old dog,” said the tram-driver indignantly. ”As though there wasn't enough trouble for a man already.”

”Let me see,” the doctor said, coming to Mary's side. ”Ah, I can't make an examination here. Better come with me, my child. I am on my way to the hospital. My carriage is here.”

”Not to hospital,” said Mary faintly. ”Let me go home; they would be so frightened.”

”I shan't detain you, I promise you. But this must be bandaged before you can go home. Ah, is this basket yours, too?”

Someone had handed up the basket from the tram-track, where it had lain disgorging cabbages and other articles of food.

”I will send you home as soon as I have seen to your arm,” the doctor said, pus.h.i.+ng her gently towards his carriage. ”And the little dog--is he your own? I suppose he is, since you nearly gave your life for him?”

”He is not mine,” said Mary faintly. ”He belongs to Lady Anne--Lady Anne Hamilton. She lives at No. 8, The Mall. She will be distracted if she misses the little dog. She is so very fond of it.”

”Ah! Lady Anne Hamilton. I have heard of her. We can leave the dog at home on our way. Come, child.”

The Mall was quite close at hand. They drove there, and just as the carriage stopped at the gate of No. 8, which had a long strip of green front garden, overhung by trees through which you could discern the old red-brick house. Lady Anne herself came down the gravel path. Over her head was a little shawl of old lace; it was caught by a seed-pearl brooch with an amethyst centre. She was wearing a quilted red silk petticoat and a bunched sacque of black flowered silk. She had magnificent dark eyes and white hair. Under it her peaked little face was the colour of old ivory. She was calling to her dog, ”Fifine, Fifine, where can you be?”

A respectable-looking elderly maid came hurrying after her.

”I've looked everywhere, my lady, and I cannot find the little thing,”

she said in a frightened voice.

Meanwhile, the doctor had got out of the carriage and had taken Fifine gently from Mary's lap. Now that Mary was coming to herself she began to discover that the doctor was young and kind-looking, but more careworn than his youth warranted. He opened the garden gate and went up to Lady Anne.

”Is this your little dog, madam?” he asked.

”My Fifine, my darling!” cried Lady Anne, embracing the trembling bit of wool. ”You don't know what she is to me, sir. My little grandson”--the imperious old voice shook--”loved the dog. She was his pet. The child is dead. You understand----”

”Perfectly,” said the doctor. ”I, too--I know what loss is. The little dog strayed. She was found in the High Road. I am very glad to restore her to you; but pray do not thank me. There is a young girl in my carriage at the gate. She picked up your dog from under the wheels of a tramcar, and broke her arm, I fear, in doing it. I am on my way to the hospital, the House of Mercy, where I am doing work for a friend who is on holiday. I am taking her with me so that I may set the arm where I have all the appliances.”

”She saved my Fifine? Heroic child! Let me thank her.”

The old lady clutched her recovered treasure to her breast with fervour, then handed the dog over to the maid.

”Take me to see Fifine's preserver,” she said in a commanding voice.

Mary was almost swooning with the pain of her arm. She heard Lady Anne's praises as though from a long distance off.

”Stay, doctor,” the old lady said; ”I cannot have her jolted over the paving-stones of the city to the Mercy. Bring her in here. We need not detain you very long. We can procure splints and bandages, all you require, from a chemist's shop. There is one just round the corner.

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