CHAPTER XII.
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE.
“I have to see Dr. Netherbridge on business,” said Stella, while the doctor’s wife peered out with disapproval at her matutinal visitor’s fresh young face.
“Oh!” said Mrs. Netherbridge, dryly. “Are you ill?”
“No.”
“My husband, Dr. Netherbridge, is not accustomed to receive visitors who do not come about illness at seven o’clock in the morning. He isn’t down yet. If you want to see him, you had better call again.”
And with that, Dr. Netherbridge’s helpmeet was shutting the door in Stella’s face, when a man’s voice from the floor above was heard inquiring who the visitor was.
“I am Miss Cranstoun, from the Chase, Dr. Netherbridge, and I shall be grateful if you can spare me a few minutes’ conversation.”
“Certainly—certainly. I will be down immediately. Letitia, show Miss Cranstoun into the drawing-room.”
The top-spinning boy, finding time hanging heavily on his hands, had followed Stella to the doctor’s house, and remained near, staring, while the young lady, holding Black Bess’ bridle, stood parleying with Mrs. Netherbridge by the open door. Stella caught sight of him now, and addressed him, with one of her charming smiles.
“Are you clever enough to hold this horse for me while I go inside the house for a few minutes?” she inquired. “You shall have sixpence for your trouble.”