CHAPTER THREE“Can I make you more comfortable, dear Mrs. Merryweather?” Gretna asked.
“I’m all right, dearie. Don’t you worry your pretty head about me,” Mrs. Merryweather replied, settling herself in a corner of the stagecoach. “I just can’t think how I came to make such a ninny of myself. When the physician said that nothin’ was broken, I could have cried out of sheer vexation.”
“He said you were terribly bruised and suffering from shock,” Gretna answered soothingly.
“Shock indeed! It takes an old fool of my age to be upset by a little thing like that. But he was right when he said I was bruised. I’m comin’ out black and blue from top to toe. I shall look like the tattooed woman at the circus by the time I’ve finished!”
Mrs. Merryweather chuckled in her usual rich warm manner and the
