with the curious little rippling laugh peculiar to her. "I might have been dead and buried for all you knew."
"You certainly look very much alive and above ground at present, and you have on a most charming gown," I replied.
"Now I want you to tell me about my heart, doctor," said my patient. "I don't believe it is quite right."
"Oh, I am sure it is," I answered, "but I will make sure," and producing a stethoscope, I went through the form of examining her chest. While I was doing so she gave a little scream.
"Oh, doctor, you've scratched my arm, you bad man."
"Where?" I said, putting the stethoscope away.
"Look, it's bleeding, you cruel monster; and see, there's the reason," pointing to my coat sleeve, in the cuff of which was sticking a pin.
"I really am very sorry, Lady Michelcombe," said I. "I apologize most humbly. It is a bad scratch. I will send you something to put on it. It would never do to have an arm like that disfigured for any length of time."
"Yes, and it hurts, too. I dismiss you until you show your contrition by attending personally to the wound you have made."
