Old Sally was volubly narrating what had transpired upstairs, and cut herself short upon the entrance of her master.
"How are you, mother?" said Dr. Oleander, nodding to the venerable party in the arm-chair. "Sally's telling you about my patient, is she?"
His mother's answer was a stifled scream, which Sally echoed.
"Well, what now?" demanded the doctor.
"You look like a ghost! Gracious me, Guy!" cried his mother, in consternation; "you're whiter than the tablecloth."
Dr. Oleander ground out an oath.
"I dare say I am. I've just had a scare from that little, crazy imp that would blanch any man. I thought, in my soul, she was going to spring upon me like a panther and choke me. She would have, too, by Jove, if I hadn't cleared out."
"Lor'!" cried Sally, in consternation, "and I've just been a-telling the missis how sweet, and gentle, and innocent, and pretty she looked."
"Innocent and gentle be—hanged!" growled the doctor. "She's the old Satan in female form. If you don't look out, Sally, she'll throttle you to-morrow when you go in."
Sally gave a little yelp of dismay.