“What is it?” she asked apprehensively.

Several voices answered, but only the words “Roger” and “accident” came to her clearly out of the blur of sound.

“What is it?” she repeated.  “What has happened?”

“There’s been an accident,” began Barry awkwardly.  “Lady Gertrude—­”

“Is she killed?”—­in shocked tones.

“No, no.  But she had another attack this morning—­heart, or temper—­and as the doctor was out when they ’phoned for him, she sent Roger rushing off post-haste in the car to find him and bring him along.  And”—­he hesitated a little—­“I’m afraid he’s had rather a bad smash-up.”

Nan’s face went very white, and half-unconsciously her grip tautened round the letter she was holding, crushing it together.

“Do you mean—­in the car?” she asked in a queer, stiff voice.

“Yes.”  It was Sandy who answered her, “He’d just swerved to avoid driving over a dog and the next minute a kiddy ran out from the other side of the road, right in his path, and he swerved again, so sharply that the car ran up the side of the hedge and overturned.

“And Roger?”

Sandy’s face twisted and he looked away.

“He was—­underneath the car,” he said at last, reluctantly.

Nan took a step forward and laid a hand on his arm.  She had read the meaning of that quick contraction of his face.

“You were there!” She spoke more as though stating a fact than asking a question.  “You saw it!”

“Yes,” he acknowledged.  “We got him out from under the car and carried him home on a hurdle.  Then I found the doctor, and he’s with him now.”

“I’d better go right across and see if I can help,” said Nan impulsively.

“No need.  Isobel will be back this afternoon—­I’ve wired her.  And they’ve already ’phoned for a couple of trained nurses.  Besides, Lady Gertrude’s malady vanished the minute she heard Roger was injured.  I think”—­with a brief smile—­“her illness was mostly due to the fact that Isobel was away, so of course she wanted to keep Roger by her side all the time.  Lady G. must always have a ‘retinue’ in attendance, you know!”

A general smile acknowledged the truth of Sandy’s diagnosis, but it was quickly smothered.  The suddenness and gravity of the accident which had befallen Roger had shocked them all.

“What does the doctor say?” asked Penelope.

“He hasn’t said anything very definite yet,” replied Sandy.  “He’s afraid there’s some injury to the spine, so he’s wired for a Plymouth consultant.  When he comes, they’ll make a thorough examination.”

“Ah!” Nan drew in her breath sharply.

“I suppose we shall hear to-night?” said Kitty.  “The Plymouth man will get here early this afternoon.”

“I’ll come over and let you know the report,” answered Sandy.  “I’m going back to Trenby now, to see if I can do any errands or odd jobs for them.  A man’s a useful thing to have about the place at a time like this.”