I ought--"

"No," denied Milo. "It was I who made a botch of it. I owe
you not only my life but an apology. It was my blow, not the
other man's, that knocked you out. I misunderstood, and--"

"That's all right!" declared Gavin. "In the dim light it's a
miracle we didn't all of us slug the wrong men. I--"

He stopped. Claire had been working over something on a table
behind him. Now she came forward with a cold compress for his
abraded scalp. Skillfully, she applied it, her dainty fingers
wondrously deft.

"Red Cross?" asked Brice, as she worked.

"Just a six-month nursing course, during the war," she said,
modestly, adding: "I didn't get across."

"I'm sorry," said Gavin. "I mean, for the poor chaps who
might have profited by such clever bandaging .... Yes, that's
a very dull and heavy compliment. I know it. But--there's a
lot of gratitude behind it. You've made this throbbing old
head of mine feel ever so much better, Miss Standish."

Milo was looking bewilderedly from one to the other, as if
trying to understand how this ill-clad man chanced to be on
such terms of acquaintanceship with his fastidious little
sister. Claire read his look of inquiry, and said: