“It’s a bit of a wonder,” said Burns in his quietest tone, “how you have kept around these last four days.  I wish you hadn’t.”

“If I hadn’t,” said the girl rather faintly, “I shouldn’t have been in this town and I shouldn’t have come to Doctor Burns.  So—­I’m glad I did.”

“Good!” said Burns, smiling.  “It’s fine to start with the confidence of one’s patient.  I’m glad you’re going to trust me.  Now we’ll take you to another room where you can lie down again till my office hours are over and I can run into the city with you.”

He rose, beckoning.  But his patient protested:  “Please tell me how to get there.  I can go perfectly well.  My head is better, I think.”

“That’s lucky.  But the first of my orders Miss Linton, is that you come with me now.”

He summoned Miss Mathewson, gave her directions, and dismissed the two.  In ten minutes the heavy eyes were again closed, while their owner lay motionless again upon a bed in an inner room which was often used for such purposes.

“I’m sorry I can’t take her in now,” Burns said to Amy presently in an interval between patients.  “I don’t want to call the ambulance out here for a walking case, and there’s no need of startling her with it, anyhow.  I wish I had some way to send her.”

“Mr. Jordan King just came into the office.  His car is outside.  Couldn’t he take her in?”

“Of course he could—­and would, I’ve no doubt.  He’s only after his mother’s prescription.  Send him in here next, will you, please?”

To the tall, well-built, black-eyed young man who answered this summons in some surprise at being admitted before his turn, Burns spoke crisply: 

“Here’s the prescription, Jord, and you’ll have to take it to Wood’s to get it filled.  I hope it’ll do your mother a lot of good, but I’m not promising till I’ve tried it out pretty well.  Now will you do me a favour?”

“Anything you like, Doctor.”

“Thanks.  I’m sending a patient to the hospital—­a stranger stranded here ill.  She ought not to be out of bed another hour, though she walked to the office and would walk away again if I’d let her—­which I won’t.  I can’t get off for three hours yet.  Will you take her in to the Good Samaritan for me?  I’ll telephone ahead, and some one will meet her at the door.  All right?”

He looked up.  Jordan King—­young civil engineer of rising reputation in spite of the family wealth which would have made him independent of his own exertions, if he could possibly have been induced by an adoring, widowed mother to remain under her wing—­stood watching him with a smile on his character-betraying lips.

“You ought to have an executive position of some sort, Doctor Burns,” he observed, “you’re so strong on orders.  I’ve got mine.  Where’s the lady?  Do I have to be silent or talkative?  Is she to have pillows?  Am I to help her out?”

“She’ll walk out—­but that and the walk in will be the last she’ll take for some time.  Talk as much as you like; it’ll help her to forget that she’s alone in the world at present except for us.  Go out to your car; I’ll send her out with Miss Mathewson.”