"I'm all right--really, Antoine." He took the hand in both his.
"Thank God!" he said fervently.
Antoine Davilof had lived so long in England that he spoke without trace of accent, though he sometimes gave an unEnglish twist to the phrasing of a sentence, but his quick emotion and the simplicity with which he made no effort to conceal it stamped him unmistakably as a foreigner.
A little touched, Magda allowed her hand to remain in his.
"Why, Davilof!" She chided him laughingly.

"You're quite absurdly upset about it." "I could not have borne it if you had been hurt," he declared vehemently.

"You ought not to go about by yourself.

It's horrible to think of _you_--in a street accident--alone!" "But I wasn't alone.

A man who was in the other half of the accident--the motor-bus half--played the good Samaritan and carried me into his house, which happened to be close by.