“If you knew that class better, you would appreciate that they are really grateful and warm-hearted, but they fear to show their feelings, and, besides, could not express them, even if they had the words, which they don’t.  But if you could hear the little chap sing your praises to the nurses and to me, you would not think him heartless.  ‘My loidy’ is his favourite description of you.”

[Illustration:  “‘I have come here—­I have intruded on you, Miss Durant,’ hurriedly began the doctor”]

“He wants to see me?” questioned the girl, eagerly.

“Yes.  Like most of the poorer class, Miss Durant,” explained the doctor, “he has a great dread of the knife.  To make him less frantic, I promised that I would come to you with his wish; and though I would not for a moment have you present at the actual operation, if you could yield so far as to come to him for a few minutes, and assure him that we are going to do it for his own good, I think it will make him more submissive.”

“When do you want me?” asked Miss Durant.

“It is—­I am to operate as soon as I can get back to the hospital, Miss Durant.  It has been regrettably postponed as it is.”

The girl stood hesitating for a moment.  “But what am I to do about my dinner?”

Dr. Armstrong’s eyes travelled over her from head to foot, taking in the charming gown of satin and lace, the strings of pearls about her exquisite throat and wrists, and all the other details which made up such a beautiful picture.  “I forgot,” he said, quietly, “that society duties now take precedence over all others.”  Then, with an instant change of manner, he went on:  “You do yourself an injustice, I think, Miss Durant, in even questioning what you are going to do.  You know you are coming to the boy.”

For the briefest instant the girl returned his intent look, trying to fathom what enabled him to speak with such absolute surety; then she said, “Let us lose no time,” as she turned back into the hall and hurried out of the front door, not even attending to the doctor’s protest about her going without a wrap; and she only said to him at the carriage door, “You will drive with me, of course, Dr. Armstrong?” Then to the footman, “Tell Murdock, the hospital, Maxwell, but you are to go at once to Mrs. Purdy, and say I shall be prevented from coming to her to-night by a call that was not to be disregarded,”

“It was madness of you, Miss Durant, to come out without a cloak, and I insist on your wearing this,” said the doctor, the moment the carriage had started, as he removed his own overcoat.

“Oh, I forgot—­but I mustn’t take it from you, Dr. Armstrong.”

“Have no thought of me.  I am twice as warmly clad as you, and am better protected than usual.”

Despite her protest he placed it about Constance’s shoulders and buttoned it up.  “You know,” he said, “the society girl with her bare throat and arms is at once the marvel and the despair of us doctors, for every dinner or ball ought to have its death-list from pneumonia; but it never—­”