“No cause to worry,” returned the physician. “You can let her stay in bed to-day if she wants to but——” He broke off, looking keenly at Madison’s face, which was the colour of poppies. “Hello! what’s up with you?”
“I’m all—right.”
“Oh, you are?” retorted Sloane with sarcasm. “Sit down,” he commanded. “Sit right where you are—on the stairs, here,” and, having enforced the order, took a stethoscope from his pocket. “Get him a glass of water,” he said to Hedrick, who was at his elbow.
“Doctor!” exclaimed Mrs. Madison. “He isn’t going to be sick, is he? You don’t think he’s sick now?”
“I shouldn’t call him very well,” answered the physician rather grimly, placing his stethoscope upon Madison’s breast. “Get his room ready for him.” She gave him a piteous look, struck with fear; then obeyed a gesture and ran flutteringly up the stairs.
“I’m all right now,” panted Madison, drinking the water Hedrick brought him.
“You’re not so darned all right,” said Sloane coolly, as he pocketed his stethoscope. “Come, let me help you up. We’re going to get you to bed.”
There was an effort at protest, but the physician had his way, and the two ascended the stairs slowly, Sloane’s arm round his new patient. At Cora’s door, the latter paused.
“What’s the matter?”
“I want,” said Madison thickly—“I want—to speak to Cora.”