The casual curiosity was sufficiently exasperating, and Dick's nerves were badly gone.
"Nothing worth mentioning," he snapped. "Just that I nearly fell into the machinery and Lestrange has done up his arm pulling me out. That's all."
And he hurried the doctor on without further parley or excuse.
Lestrange was in the room behind the office, smoking one of Bailey's cigars and listening to that gentleman's vigorous remarks concerning managers who couldn't keep out of their own machinery, the patient not having considered it worth while to explain Dick's share in the mischance. An omission which Dick himself promptly remedied in his anxious contrition.
Later, when the arm was being swathed in white linen, its owner spoke to his companion of the morning:
"I hope you didn't annoy Miss Ffrench with this trifling matter, as you came in."
"I didn't speak to her at all, only to my uncle."
"Very good."
Something in the too-indolent tone roused Dick's usually dormant observation. Startled, he scrutinized Lestrange.
"Is that why you bothered yourself with me?" he stammered. "Is that why—"