Little Cecil opened his mouth and received the thermometer and then began to laugh, looking round him with big, mischievous eyes.
The doctor held up a warning finger.
“Be quiet, Cecil,” said his grandmother sharply. “Didn’t you hear what Dr. Lucian said?”
“Just you be quiet, Ces,” coaxed his mother. She looked down at him, stroking his forehead.
Lady Aviolet moved to the window. “He’s spoilt,” she said to the doctor, in what she evidently supposed to be an inaudible aside. “We’re looking for a good nursery governess. Just think—seven years old and can’t read yet!”
“When does your son get back?”
“He is back, I am glad to say. It’s difficult to know what to do——” she broke off. “I’d like you to examine Cecil, and see if you think he’s really delicate. I believe they were in some healthy part, up in the hills, but of course it isn’t the same thing as being properly brought up in England.”
The doctor went back to the bedside, made friends with the little boy, and accomplished a very fairly general examination.
“We shall have you up and about again in a couple of days. How do you like England?”
“Very much indeed, thank you. I like the garden, only I’m not allowed to pick the flowers, and there are no monkeys.”