As soon as Theodore, who was in his own bedroom, heard his stepmother follow the others downstairs, he went in to see Jack, and found him lying back in bed, looking pale and weary. Theodore commenced to ply him with questions.
"What did the London doctor say? Did he hurt you much?"
"No, not much," Jack responded. "He was very gentle, and he asked me how I should like to be a patient of his. I told him I didn't think it was worth while his bothering about me, because I knew he couldn't cure me."
"But how do you know he can't? Oh, Jack, supposing he could, what would you say then?"
"It's no good thinking, Theo!"
"I wouldn't worry Master Jack with too much talking," Jane interposed at this point; "can't you see he's looking very tired, Master Theodore?"
"Oh! indeed he doesn't worry me! He never does!" Jack cried.
"You don't know anything about it!" Theodore exclaimed rudely, turning an indignant glance upon Jane; "you needn't interfere!"
"Theodore!"
Jack's voice was full of gentle reproach. The anger died from Theodore's face, and he muttered something under his breath about being sorry, which Jane thought it wisest to take as an apology. At that moment the door opened, and Mrs. Barton entered with flushed cheeks and glistening eyes.