Bob Dimsted’s Medicine.
It was some time before Dexter could summon up courage to go down to the breakfast-room. That he was expected, he knew, for Mrs Millett had been to his door twice, and said first that breakfast was ready, and, secondly, that master was waiting.
When he did go in, he could hardly believe that he had been away, for there was a kiss from Helen, and a frank “Good morning,” and shake of the hand from the doctor, not the slightest allusion being made to the past till breakfast was nearly over, when Maria brought in a note.
“Hah! From Limpney,” said the doctor. “I sent Peter on to say that Dexter was back, and that I should like the lessons to be resumed this morning.”
Dexter’s eyes lit up. The idea of being busy over lessons once more seemed delightful.
“Confound his impudence!” said the doctor angrily, as he ran through the note. “Hark here, Helen: ‘Mr Limpney’s compliments, and he begs to decline to continue the tuition at Dr Grayson’s house.’”
Helen made a gesture, and glanced at her father meaningly—
“Eh? Oh! Ah! Yes, my dear. Well, Dexter, you’ll have to amuse yourself in the garden this morning. Go and have a few hours’ fishing.”
“If you please, sir, I’d rather stay in here if I might, and read.”
“No, no, no,” said the doctor cheerily. “Fine morning. Get Peter to dig you some worms, and I’ll come and look at you presently. It’s all right, my boy. We said last night we’d draw a veil over the past, eh? You go and have a good morning’s fishing.”