The doctor rose from his chair, and Mr. Wedmore frowned.

"And it's no use putting me off by telling me not to ask questions. I'm
not mamma, you know."

"I intend to ask him--something about you."

It was the girl's turn to frown now.

"Please don't, papa," said she, in a lower voice. "I know you're going
to worry him, and to put your hands behind your back and ask him
conundrums, and to make all sorts of mischief, under the impression that
you are putting things right. And if you only just wouldn't, everything
would soon be as right as possible. While if you persist--"

But Mr. Wedmore interrupted her, not harshly, as he would have done
anybody else, but with decision.

"You must trust me to know best, my dear. It is better for you both that
we should come to some understanding. Haselden, you'll excuse me for
half an hour, won't you? And you, Doreen," and he turned again to his
daughter, "stay with the doctor here, and try to talk sense till I come
back again."

And Mr. Wedmore went quickly out of the room, without giving the girl a
chance of saying anything more.