“Well, at least Peter will understand what Nan is doing and why she’s doing it.  Given that he knew the whole truth, I think he’d probably run away with her.  I know I should—­if I were a man!  Now, will you go and see Roger, please?”

“I suppose I shall have to.  But it’s a beastly job.”  Barry’s usually merry eyes were clouded.

“Beastly,” agreed Kitty sympathetically.  “But it’s got to be done.”

Ten minutes later she watched her husband drive away in the direction of Trenby Hall, and composed herself to wait patiently on the march of events.

* * * * * *

Barry looked pitifully down at the big, helpless figure lying between the sheets of the great four-poster bed.  Except for an unwonted pallor and the fact that no movement of the body below the waist was visible, Roger looked very much as usual.  He waved away the words of sympathy which were hovering on Barry’s lips.

“Nice of you to come so soon,” he said curtly.  “But, for God’s sake, don’t condole with me.  I don’t want condolences and I won’t have ’em.”  There was a note in his voice which told of the effort which his savage self-repression cost him.

Barry understood, and for a few minutes they discussed, things in general, Roger briefly describing the accident.

“Funny how things happen,” he observed.  “I suppose I’m about as expert a driver as you’d get.  There was practically nothing I couldn’t do with a car—­and along come a dog and a kiddy and flaw me utterly in two minutes.  I’ve had much nearer shaves a dozen times before and escaped scot-free.”

They talked on desultorily for a time.  Then suddenly Roger asked: 

“When’s Nan coming to see me?  I told Isobel to ’phone down to Mallow this morning.”

“You’re hardly up to visitors,” said Barry, searching for delay.  “I don’t suppose I ought to have come, really.”

Roger looked at him with eyes that burned fiercely underneath his shaggy brows.

“I’m as right as you are—­except for my confounded back,” he answered.  “I’ve not got a scratch on me.  Only something must have struck me as the car overturned—­and a bit of my spinal anatomy’s gone phut.”

“You mayn’t be as badly injured as you think,” ventured Barry.  “Some other doctor might give you a different report.”

“Oh, he’s quite a shining light—­the man who came down here.  Spine’s his job.  And his examination was thorough enough.  There’s nothing can be done.  My legs are useless—­and I’m a strong, healthy man who may live to a ripe old age.”

He turned his head on the pillow and Barry saw him drag the sheet between his teeth and bite on it.  He crossed to the window, giving the man time to regain his self-command.

“Well, what about Nan?” Roger demanded at last harshly.  “When’s she coming?”

Barry faced round to the bed again.