“I don’t ask you to,” Miss Challoner replied. “Have the goodness to do as I bid you.”
“I beg pardon, madam, but in the event of his lordship desiring to know who sent for the surgeon — ?”
“You will tell the truth, of course,” said Miss Challoner. “Where is his lordship’s bedchamber?”
Fletcher eyed her with dawning respect. “If you will allow me to show you, madam,” he said, and led the way upstairs.
He went ahead of her into the room. Miss Challoner heard Vidal say. “Oh, let her come in!” and awaited no further invitation. She went in, and when the door had shut behind Fletcher, walked up to the big four-poster bed and said contritely: “I did hurt you. Indeed, I am sorry, my lord.”
Vidal was sitting up in bed, propped by pillows; his eyes looked a little feverish, and his cheeks were flushed.
“Don’t apologize,” he said. “You did very well for a beginner. I regret receiving you like this. I hoped you’d sleep later. Will you be ready to set forward at noon?”
“No, I fear I shall not,” she answered. “We will stay where we are for to-day.” She picked up a pillow from the floor, and arranged it carefully under Vidal’s injured arm. “Is that more comfortable, sir?”
“Perfectly, I thank you. But whether you are ready, or not, we start for Paris today.”
She smiled lovingly at him. “It’s my turn to play the tyrant, sir. You will stay in bed.”