Mr.Blood had found her suffering from nothing worse than peevishness--the result of a natural petulance aggravated by the dulness of life in Barbados to a lady of her social aspirations.

But he had prescribed for her none the less, and she had conceived herself the better for his prescription.

After that the fame of him had gone through Bridgetown, and Colonel Bishop had found that there was more profit to be made out of this new slave by leaving him to pursue his profession than by setting him to work on the plantations, for which purpose he had been originally acquired.
"It is yourself, madam, I have to thank for my comparatively easy and clean condition," said Mr.Blood, "and I am glad to take this opportunity of doing so." The gratitude was in his words rather than in his tone.

Was he mocking, she wondered, and looked at him with the searching frankness that another might have found disconcerting.

He took the glance for a question, and answered it.
"If some other planter had bought me," he explained, "it is odds that the facts of my shining abilities might never have been brought to light, and I should be hewing and hoeing at this moment like the poor wretches who were landed with me." "And why do you thank me for that?
It was my uncle who bought you." "But he would not have done so had you not urged him.