Keith bowed. He was for some reason pleased that she did not say anything of the way in which he had brought her down the Ridge.
Mrs. Yorke turned and thanked him with graciousness, possibly with a little condescension. He was conscious that she gave him a sweeping glance, and was sorry his shoes were so old. But Mrs. Yorke took no further notice of him.
"Oh, what will your father say! You know he wanted us to go to California; but you would come South. After Mr. Wickersham told you of his place, nothing else would satisfy you."
"Oh, papa! You know I can settle him," said the girl.
Mrs. Yorke began to lament the wretchedness of a region where there was no doctor of reputation.
"There is a very fine surgeon in the village. Dr. Balsam is one of the best surgeons anywhere," said Keith.
"Oh, I know that old man. No doubt, he is good enough for little common ailments," said Mrs. Yorke, "but in a case like this! What does he know about surgery?" She turned back to her daughter. "I shall telegraph your father to send Dr. Pilbury down at once."
Keith flushed at her manner.
"A good many people have to trust their lives to him," he said coldly. "And he has had about as much surgical practice as most men. He was in the army."
The girl began again to belittle her injury.