Chapter Two.
The girl faced about at the sound of Matheson’s approach. She was vainly attempting to ward off the dog’s exuberant attacks, which Matheson quelled promptly with the effective argument of force. She looked from him to the collie as it ran howling behind her, and her eyes rebuked the man’s roughness.
“He did not intend to hurt,” she said. “He is always like that when he grows excited; one has to keep him off with a stick; but I forgot.”
“I am afraid he bit you,” he said. “Yes. But it isn’t much, I think. I’ll go back and bathe it. I am staying quite close.”
“A dog’s bite can be a nasty thing, particularly in this country,” he said. “I wish you would let me have a look at it.” She flushed brightly, and asked: “Are you a doctor?”
“Doctor enough for that sort of operation,” he replied, smiling. “There is a natural and effective way of treating all bites when one has no artificial remedy handy.”
“Oh! I don’t think it is necessary to trouble you,” she said quickly. “The dog is perfectly healthy.”
“That may be; but it is a wise precaution,” he urged. He was quietly insistent; but the girl was determined in her objection, which he had a persuasion arose from prudish reasons rather than indifference to the wound. A feeling of irritation gripped him. He wondered why he should concern himself about her. If she chose to run risks, that was her affair.
“I am afraid you consider my interference impertinent,” he said. “It was not meant so.”
Quickly she lifted her eyes, brown, earnest eyes, to his face, and scrutinised him closely.