“Sitting in a hot room and drinking what doesn’t agree with you, sir.”
“I couldn’t help the room being hot,” replied the lad, rather indignantly.
“No, sir; but you could have helped giving yourself a headache and coming here this morning to ask uncle for a cooling draught.”
“Oh, that’s it, is it, Miss Clever? Well, you are all wrong.”
“I am glad to hear it, Archie,” said Mrs Morley. “I thought you had come to see the Doctor.”
“That’s right,” said the lad, screwing up his face again and nodding rather defiantly, boy and girl fashion, at the young lady gardener. “Somebody ill?”
“No, my dear boy. It’s only Sir Charles Dallas;” and as she spoke she glanced at her niece again, who had suddenly become busy over a fresh loose strand. “He’s come to ask about the men who were wounded in that wretched quarrel last night.”
“Why, that’s what I came for.—Do you hear, Minnie?”
Just then a door somewhere in the interior was opened, and men’s voices reached their ears, one being the Doctor’s.
“No, nothing to worry about, sir; do them good.”