A glint of amusement shone in her grey eyes. “Well enough to understand the doctor, my lord. But I could not follow very much of what you said. Most of the words you used were strange to me.”
“Thank God for that!” said Vidal. “Now go away, there’s a good girl, and leave me to deal with this fellow.”
“Having phlegm, sir, I am to hold the basin,” replied Miss Challoner. “You did as much for me, after all.”
He grinned. “I’d a notion you’d never forgive me for that, whatever else you forgave.”
“Forgive you? I was exceedingly grateful,” said Miss Challoner matter-of-factly.
“You’re a remarkable woman,” he said. “But I’ll have none of this blood-letting for all that.”
Miss Challoner had the bowl ready. She said kindly: “It will not hurt you, sir, I assure you.”
For the second time that morning his lordship was bereft of speech.
Miss Challoner said, as one reasoning with a rebellious child: “If you desire to be well, and able to make the journey to Paris, you will do as the surgeon advises. But if you are minded to be stupid and obstinate, I shall find the means to go to Paris by myself.”
His lordship sat up. “Thunder and turf, how old do you take me for?”