The lady was talking herself into less caustic mood. Perhaps she had
not expected the Baron to shine in an emergency. Her calmness seemed to
irritate him, though he was most anxious to put himself right with her.

"My object in jumping out so quickly was to run to the horses' heads,"
he said. "Unfortunately, I tripped and nearly fell. But why sit there?
We must take a hansom. Or perhaps you would prefer to go by train?"

"Oh, a cab, by all means."

The horses were now standing so quietly that Royson handed the reins to
the coachman, who was examining the traces. Then he was able to turn
and look at the lady. He saw that she was young and pretty, but the
heavy furs she wore half concealed her face, and the fact that his own
garments were frayed, while his hands and overcoat were plastered with
mud off the wheels, did not help to dissipate a certain embarrassment
that gripped him, for he was a shy man where women were concerned. She,
too, faltered a little, and the reason was made plain by her words.

"I do not know how to thank you," she said, and he became aware that
she had wonderful brown eyes. "I think--you saved my life. Indeed, I am
sure you did. Will you--call--at an address that I will give you? Mr.
Fenshawe will be most anxious to--to--acknowledge your services."

"Oh, pray leave that to me, Miss Fenshawe," broke in the Baron, whose
fluent English had a slight lisp. "Here is my card," he went on
rapidly, looking at Royson with calm assurance. "Come and see me this
evening, at seven o'clock, and I will make it worth your while."