"Oh, is it bleeding?" I asked, horrified, and forgetting to hide my horror.
He laughed. "Only a drop or two. Why, you 're as white as your name, child."
"That 's only at the thought," I said. "I don't mind the sight, although I do think if Providence had made blood a pale green or a pretty blue it would have been less startling than bright red. However, it 's too late to change that now. And if you don't show me your thumb, I 'll have hysterics instantly, and perhaps be discharged by Lady Turnour on the spot."
At this awful threat, which I must have looked terribly capable of carrying out, he obeyed without a word.
A horrid little, thin slip of iron had gone deep down between the nail and the flesh, and large drops of the most sensational crimson were splashing down on to the ground.
"The idea of your driving like that!" I exclaimed fiercely. But my voice quivered. "One, two, three!" I said to myself, and then pulled. I wanted to shut my eyes, but pride forbade, so I kept them as wide open as if my lids had been propped up with matches. Out came the splinter of metal, and seeing it in my hand—so long, so sharp—things swam in rainbow colours for a few seconds; but I was outwardly calm as a Stoic, and wrapped the thumb in my handkerchief despite my brother's protests.
"Brave child," he said. "Thank you."
I looked up at him, and his eyes had such a beautiful expression that a queer tenderness began stirring in my heart, just as a young bird stirs in a nest when it wakes
