“Which?” queried the boy.
“Which what?” said the doctor.
“Which what you said?”
“I did not say anything, sir.”
“Oh my! what a story!” cried the boy, appealing to Helen. “Didn’t you hear him say I was to be his something son?”
“Adopted son,” said the doctor severely; “and, look here, you must not speak to me in that way.”
“All—” Dexter checked himself again, and he only stared.
“Now, you understand,” said the doctor, after a few minutes’ hesitation; “you are to be here like my son, and you may call me—yes, father, or papa.”
“How rum!” said the boy, showing his white teeth with a remarkable want of reverence. “I say,” he added, turning to Helen; “what am I to call you!”
Helen turned to her father for instructions, her brow wrinkling from amusement and vexation.