cutting in London, she’s an incognita so far as America is concerned.”
The General continued to stir his tea impassively.
“Did she not inform you in the course of her small talk,” he inquired presently, “that on her way here her carriage had knocked a man down and gone near to killing him?”
The question evoked a chorus of interested negatives.
“Neither did she say anything to me about it,” said the General gravely.
“Then how did you become aware of the accident?” Mrs. Sadgrove ventured to ask.
“Saw it,” returned the General. “It happened in Buckingham Palace Road. I was passing at the time, on my way home from the club. Her coachman drove right over the fellow as he was crossing the roadway at the corner. He was knocked down, and it was the merest shave that he wasn’t trampled by the horses and crushed by the wheels. As it was, he escaped with a bit of a shaking and a dusty coat. At any rate, he got up and walked into the nearest barber’s—for a wash and brush-up, I suppose.”
Further questioned, the General in his jerky
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