Ventura did not answer. She took the scissors, and, bending over him again, began to snip the blister.
"Does it hurt you?"
"It is nothing; go on."
But when the wound was disclosed to view the girl could not repress a gesture of repugnance, which did not escape her husband's sight; so that his eyes darkened and his forehead corrugated with angry lines.
"Look here, stop, stop. We will wait for the doctor to come," he said, taking hold of her gently, but firmly, by the wrist.
Ventura looked at him in surprise.
"Why?"
"Never mind; go away, go away," he returned quickly, fastening his shirt, and drawing up the bedclothes about him.
Ventura stood with the scissors in her hand and looked at him fixedly in astonishment. Her husband lay with the frown still upon his forehead and with his eyes fixed on the ceiling.
"But why? What have I done to you, boy?"