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“’Lo, Myra.” He had described the state of his vitality.

“Well—you got here, anyways.”

“Well—I’ll tell you. I guess you don’t know about the auto accident,” he romanced.

Myra’s eyes opened wide.

“Who was it to?”

“Well,” he continued desperately, “uncle ’n aunt ’n I.”

“Was any one killed?”

Amory paused and then nodded.

“Your uncle?”—alarm.

“Oh, no—just a horse—a sorta gray horse.”

At this point the Erse butler snickered.

“Probably killed the engine,” he suggested. Amory would have put him on the rack without a scruple.

“We’ll go now,” said Myra coolly. “You see, Amory, the bobs were ordered for five and everybody was here, so we couldn’t wait——”

“Well, I couldn’t help it, could I?”

“So mama said for me to wait till ha’past five. We’ll catch the bob before it gets to the Minnehaha Club, Amory.”

Amory’s shredded poise dropped from him. He pictured the happy party jingling along snowy streets, the appearance of the limousine, the horrible public descent of him and Myra before sixty reproachful eyes, his apology—a real one this time. He sighed aloud.