"And you, Mr. Dunneston?"
"I was going on to Clovelly," the Englishman considered doubtfully. "But, I say, I'll stay and see this through, too," he decided suddenly.
"Good!" Young Preston put his hand in through the window for the Englishman's luggage. As he extended his arm, his wrist stretched clear of his cuff and showed a white bandage bound tightly about it.
"I thought there was a bandage under your sleeve," the girl cried as she saw it. "So you were hurt! Is it very bad?" she sought to examine it.
"Please—it's nothing!" The American hastily drew back and covered his wrist with his sleeve again. "I was just cranking a motor for a fellow at the hotel after breakfast this morning—he was having some trouble and was in a hurry—and the handle flew about, after I let it go, and struck me. It just bruised me a little, and broke the skin so that it bled."
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