"Leslie, your curiosity unfits you for any useful career," her father exclaimed, with a great show of irritation. "Do you suppose Dr. Burton wanted that hot water to meliorate the temperature of the room? If so, it will probably be just as well to keep Mrs. Bussey holding it in the doorway; but if you think he possibly meant to use it as a fomentation,--"
"You needn't think you are going to put me off in that way," said Leslie, making way for Mrs. Bussey. "I am just as sorry as I can be that you are hurt, you know, but that isn't all. I want to know what has happened now."
"Dr. Burton assures me it is merely a strain, though he goes so far as to admit that if I make the worst of it, I may be able to imagine that it hurts. But of course it doesn't really. It will merely be nerves."
"Can I help you with that hot application, Mr. Burton?" Leslie asked.
"Mrs. Bussey can do this. Do you know where to find some court-plaster? And scissors?"
She got the required articles deftly, and watched in silence while he dressed the doctor's temple. Then she asked: "May he talk now?"
"I should not undertake to prevent him."
"Now, father,--"
"Well, those little imps of Satan that live in that tumble-down house on King Street, where you went Friendly Visiting,--"
"The Sprigg children?"