There was a general movement, and Peter shook hands as he got up.  The other girl struck him at once as a good sort.

“You’re booked to take us to tea, I suppose?” she said.  “Julie’s far more practical than you’d imagine, padre.”

They left the row of chairs together, Julie well in front and apparently forgetful of their existence.  As they came abreast of the empty bed, Peter noticed that the assistant matron had gone, and that Donovan was drifting in the stream alongside her in front.  But before they were out of the great ward, Julie and he were laughing together.  Peter felt absurdly hurt, and hated himself for feeling it.  The other girl was talking at his elbow, but he made ridiculous and commonplace replies and hardly noticed her.  She broke off at last abruptly, and he roused himself to carry on.  He caught her expression, and somehow or other it landed him deeper in the business.  He made a deliberate move.

“Where are you going after this?” he asked.

“Down town to do some shopping; then I suppose home, unless a fit seizes Julie and we run a risk once more of being summarily repatriated.”

He laughed.  “Does that often happen?”

“Quite often.  You see ours is an English hospital, though we are South Africans attached to it.  I think they’re much more strict than Colonial hospitals.  But they give us more latitude than the rest, at any rate.  Julie had a fearful row once, and simply declared she would do some things, and since then they turn a blind eye occasionally.  But there are limits, and one day she’ll step over them—­I know she will.”

“Let’s hope not,” said Peter; “but now let me get you some tea.”

The little room was packed, but Peter got through somehow and made his way to a series of tables spread with cakes and sandwiches.  He got a cup and seized a plate, and shouldered his way back.  In the crush he saw only the top of Miss Raynard’s head, and made for that.  “Here you are,” he said cheerfully, as he emerged.  “Have a sandwich?”

“Thanks,” she said as she took it; “but why didn’t you bring two cups?”

“Why?” he asked.

She nodded towards a corner and there was Julie, wedged in between people, and refusing tea from a subaltern.  “She expects you to bring it,” said Miss Raynard.

Peter looked puzzled, “Where’s Donovan?” he said.  “I thought she came in with him.”

The girl smiled.  “She did, but she arranged for you to bring her tea, whoever Donovan is, and she’ll wait for it.  She’s that sort.  Besides, if Donovan was that officer with the matron, he’s probably got other fish to fry.”

Peter waited for no more, but plunged into the press again.  As he emerged, he crossed the track of his friend, who was steering about with cakes.  “Hullo, padre,” that individual said; “you’re a smart one, you are.  Let’s take those girls out to dinner.  They’ll come all right.”