"Well, upon my word!" Melrose was by this time pale with rage. "A young man—sick—in my drawing-room!—and a young woman giving orders in my house!—you're a precious lot—you are!" He strode on toward the young woman, who, as he now saw, was in the dress of a nurse. She had descended the steps, and was vainly trying to quiet the dogs.
"I'll uphold yer!" muttered Dixon, following slowly after; "it's the queerest do-ment that iver I knew!"
"Madam! I should like to know what your business is here. I never invited you that I know of, and I am entirely at a loss to understand your appearance in my house!"
The girl whom Melrose addressed with this fierce mock courtesy turned on him a perplexed face.
"I know nothing about it, sir, except that I was summoned from Manchester last night to an urgent case, and arrived early this morning. Can't you, sir, quiet your dogs? Mr. Faversham is very ill."
"In my house!" cried Melrose, furiously. "I won't have it. He shan't remain here. I will have him removed."
The girl looked at him with amazement.
"That, sir, would be quite impossible. It would kill him to move him. Please, Mr. Dixon, help me with the dogs."
She turned imploringly to Dixon, who obediently administered various kicks and cuffs to the noisy trio which at last procured silence.
Her expression lightened, and with the professional alertness of one who has no time to spend in gossiping, she turned and went quickly back into the house.