It was a masterly stroke. Gerald gave him one look of intense scorn, almost of anger, and immediately reached out her hand. "I am afraid of nothing—not even of your lack of skill."
Denham took her hand without further ceremony, and holding it firmly, pushed back the hanging lace from her arm and began rubbing the soap over the burns, without so much as a word of pity for the pain he knew he was giving her. She winced involuntarily at the first touch, but set her teeth tightly lest she should cry out. It hurt her cruelly. "I was not aware before that the custody of souls extended to that of the temples they inhabit," she said, when she could command herself sufficiently to assume a supreme indifference of tone. "You believe in purely household remedies, I see."
"I believe always in doing what I can with what means I have. One moment more, please. I am not quite through."
Gerald held out her hand again. "Perhaps you had better try sandstone on it this time, or a little burning oil."
Halloway did not answer, but hastily tearing his handkerchief into strips, bound the arm as closely as he could. "There," he said, surveying the bandages critically, and inwardly well pleased with his success; "at least that will do till you can see the doctor."
"Are you sure you are quite through now?" asked Gerald, in mock submission. "You don't think it necessary to put the arm in a splint, or to fasten weights to it, or to amputate the first joint of the thumb?"
"I am sorry to say that is all I know how to do for you, Miss Vernor."
"Then I will go back to Miss Lydia. By the way, would you recommend soap also for hysterics?"
"Applied with a close bandage over the mouth? Certainly, it will be both effectual and immediate."
"Thank you. Good-night."