“Well, but that?”
“That’s the stain from some crushed leaf.”
“Well, that, then?” cried Sir James angrily at finding the doctor so ready to give explanations to his doubts.
“That’s another prick.”
“Tut, tut, tut! Well, that?”
“That’s a scratch.”
“Well, that, then?” cried Sir James, almost fiercely. “There’s the discoloration you said would appear.”
“Oh,” said the doctor, laughing; “that’s dirt!”
Sir James made no answer, but snatching a handkerchief from his pocket he moistened a corner between his lips, passed it over the clear skin of his son’s wrist, and the dark mark passed away.
“Here, Dean,” said the doctor, “hands up! That’s right; draw back your shirt sleeve.”