“Insolent puppy!” he muttered, frowning. “A miserable excuse.”
“Pierce, dear, where are you?” cried a pleasant voice, and a piquant little figure appeared at the door. “Oh, there you are. Shall I want a hat? Oh, no, it’s quite mild.” The owner of the voice hurried out like a beam of sunshine on the dull grey morning, and taking the Doctor’s arm tried to keep step with him, after glancing up in his stern face, her own looking merry and arch with its dimples.
“What is it, Jenny?” he said.
“What is it, sir? Why, I want fresh air as well as you; but don’t stride along like that. How can I keep step? You have such long legs.”
“That’s better,” he said, trying to accommodate himself to the little body at his side.
“Rather. So you have had a patient,” she said.
“Yes, I’ve had a patient, Sis,” he replied, looking down at her; and a faint colour dawned in her creamy cheeks.
“And you always grumbling, sir! There, I do believe that is the beginning of a change. Who was the patient?”
The Doctor’s hand twitched, and he frowned, but he said, calmly enough, “That young cub from the Manor.”
“Mr Claud Wilton?” said the girl innocently; “Oh, I am glad. Beginning with the rich people at the Manor. Now everyone will come.”