Colin, almost forgetting that Mrs. Arbuthnot had misunderstood him, accepted the invitation gratefully and said good-bye. On the way back to Northbridge Noel offended his brother-in-law’s finer feelings very much by his praise of Mrs. Arbuthnot, and Colin fell into a remote silence in which he imagined that Mrs. Arbuthnot had come to the hunt and the otter, hard pressed by the hounds, had rushed up the bank and bitten her in the leg. White but courageous, she clung to Colin’s arm. “Blood-poisoning,” she murmured. Swiftly he bent and sucked—no, that would not do. Not even Queen Philippa would suck a bitten leg. The otter must somehow bite her arm. Could otters rear, if hard pressed? Or would she, all womanly tenderness, have stooped to help the otter; perhaps have taken it in her arms to pu
