Pink was dead. Those brutes had killed him. Pink.
He was not dead. He was moving his arms.
Louis Akers straightened when he saw her and took off his hat.
"Nothing to worry about, Miss Cardew," he said. "But what sort of idiocy--! Hello, old man, all right now?"
Pink sat up, then rose stiffly and awkwardly. He had a cut over one eye, and he felt for his handkerchief.
"Fouled me," he said. "Filthy lot, anyhow. Wonder they didn't walk on me when I was down." He turned to the grounds-keeper, who had come up. "You ought to know better than to let those fellows cut up this turf," he said angrily. "What're you here for anyhow?"
But he was suddenly very sick. He looked at Lily, his face drawn and blanched.
"Got me right," he muttered. "I--"
"Get into my car," said Akers, not too amiably. "I'll drive you to the stables. I'll be back, Miss Cardew."
Lily went back to the car and sat down. She was shocked and startled, but she was strangely excited. The crowd had beaten Pink, but it had obeyed Louis Akers like a master. He was a man. He was a strong man. He must be built of iron. Mentally she saw him again, driving recklessly over the turf, throwing the men to right and left, hoarse with anger, tall, dominant, powerful.
It was more important that a man be a man than that he be a gentleman.
After a little he drove back across the field, sending the car forward again at reckless speed. Some vision of her grandfather, watching the machine careening over the still soft and spongy turf and leaving deep tracks behind it, made her smile. Akers leaped out.
"No need to worry about our young friend," he said cheerfully. "He is alternately being very sick at his stomach and cursing the poor working man. But I think I'd better drive you back. He'll be poor company, I'll say that."
He looked at her, his bold eyes challenging, belying the amiable gentleness of his smile.
"I'd better let him know."
"I told him. He isn't strong for me. Always hate the fellow who saves you, you know. But he didn't object."
Lily moved into his car obediently. She felt a strange inclination to do what this man wanted. Rather, it was an inability to oppose him. He went on, big, strong, and imperious. And he carried one along. It was easy and queer. But she did, unconsciously, what she had never done with Pink or any other man; she sat as far away from him on the wide seat as she could.