"You shall not have them unless you come in for them. Besides, we
want you to tell us what happened. We are crazy with excitement.
Madame de Cartier fainted, and mamma is almost worried to death."

"Are you not coming up, Mr. Quentin?" called Mrs. Garrison, from the
veranda.

"You must come in," said de Cartier, coming up at that moment with
the count and Mr. Knowlton.

"Really, I must go to the hotel, I am a little faint after that
wretched run. Let me go, please; don't insist on my coming in," he
said.

"Mon dieu!" exclaimed the count. "It is blood, Monsieur! You are
hurt!"

"Oh, not in the least--merely a--"

"Phil!" cried Dorothy, standing in front of him, her wide eyes
looking intently into his. "Are you hurt? Tell me!"

"Just a little cut in the arm or shoulder, I think. Doesn't amount
to anything, I assure--"

"Come in the house at once, Philip Quentin!" she exclaimed. "Mr.
Knowlton, will you ask Franz to telephone for Dr. Berier?" Then she
saw the blood-stained hand and shuddered, turning her face away.
"Oh, Phil!" she whispered.