Harsh, loud tones made Amy shiver, and brought a look into her eyes which the Colonel did not like to see, and with her he was usually very docile, or if roused, the touch of her hand and the expression of her eyes subdued him, as they did now when he told her of his broken carriage and ruined cushions and the young girl for whom Amy at once wished to do something.

“Certainly,” he had said; “only don’t bring her here,” and he was beginning to wonder where Howard was, and to feel irritated at the delay, when the latter came in with Jack, and found a tolerably urbane and courteous host.

Naturally the conversation turned upon the storm and accident, the particulars of which were briefly gone over, while Amy stirred her coffee listlessly and did not seem to listen.  She was very lovely, Jack thought, with no sign of her mental disorder, except the peculiar expression of her eyes at times.  Her dress was faultless, her manner perfect, her language good, and her smile the sweetest and saddest he had ever seen, and Jack watched her curiously, while the conversation drifted away from Eloise, in whom the Colonel felt no interest.  She was a graduate, and probably knew nothing of what he thought essential for a teacher to know.  She was not rooted and grounded in the fundamentals.  Probably she had never heard of the grindstone, or the sheep, and could not work out the problems if she had.  She was superficial.  She belonged to a new generation which had put him and his theories on the shelf.  Her blue dress had stained the cushions of his carriage, and there was a puddle of water in the hall where Sam had put down her satchel and hat, which had been found in the driveway near the stable.  They had been thrown from the carriage, and lain in the rain all night.  The hat was soaked through and through, and the ribbons were limp and faded; but he did not care a rap what became of them, he said to himself, when Howard spoke of them and their condition, saying that bad as they were he presumed she wanted them.

Amy on the contrary was instantly on the alert, and as they passed through the hall from the dining-room, and she saw the poor crushed hat, she said to Jack, “Is it hers?”

“Yes, and I’m afraid it is ruined,” Jack answered, taking it in his hand and examining it critically.

“I will fix it,” Amy replied, and, carrying it to her room, she tried to bend it into shape and renovate the bows of ribbon.

But it was beyond her skill.

“She can never wear it.  I must send her one of mine,” she said, selecting a hat which she wore when walking in the park.  “You must take it to the young lady at Mrs. Biggs’s.  What is her name?  I don’t think I understood; they were all talking together and confused me so,” she said to her maid, who had heard of the adventure from Sam, but had not caught the right name.

“It is Louise something.  I don’t remember what,” she replied.