“I can’t.  It baffled description.  Well, they drifted apart; but often afterwards, when that young laddy was studying his Manual of Military Law in his lonely dug-out, the image of Sister Carruthers glowed on the printed page.  But I never met her again until the other day, when I was having a gentle toddle round Quelquepart and saw her gliding along the quay.  Something gripped me by the heart; I took my courage in both hands and spoke to her.

“‘Don’t you remember me, Sister?’ I said.  ’It was you who nursed me in No. 99 General.’

“She looked at me coldly.

“’As you are the third young officer who has adopted a similar method of introduction this afternoon,’ she said, ’you must forgive me if I ask for some confirmation.’

“‘Surely you haven’t forgotten?’ I cried.  ’You drew me a sweet little design in dots and dashes to hang over my bed.  When I was evacuated to England I wanted to thank you, to ask if we might meet again, but you thrust a clinical thermometer between my teeth and told me not to speak till you gave me permission.  Then you left me, and I was whisked away to the boat clinging grimly to the thermometer, inarticulate and heartbroken.’

“’And I presume your object in speaking to me to-day is to return the thermometer?’ she said primly.

“That’s where I took the full count,” continued Frederick, sadly.  “If I could have produced any old thing in the thermometer line my bona fides would have been established an’ I could have gone ahead like cotton-mill shares.  Instead of which, she’d said Good-day and gone while I was thinkin’ out explanations.  Since that time I’ve been parading Quelquepart simply bristling with thermometers, but I’ve never met her again.”

“The old Army fault of unpreparedness,” remarked Percival.  “You ought to go to hospital.”

“Don’t be juvenile!  What have hospitals to do with heartache?”

“Everything, if you go to the right one—­the one where your ministering angel ministrates, for instance.”

“Percival, old ace,” said Frederick, with admiration, “you’ll rank among the world’s great thinkers yet.  Turn on the current again and tell me what is my complaint.”

“Digestive trouble,” said Percival promptly.  “There’s already been rumours about, and you’ll be doing a public service by going to dock with dyspepsia.  Binnie will be so stricken by remorse that he’ll at once start providing the Mess with decent food.”

“Then for your sakes I’ll rehearse the symptoms.  But my curse will be on your head if I get to the wrong hospital.”

It was unfortunate that the M.O. was in an unsympathetic mood next morning.  He thumped Frederick on the lower chest and pooh-poohed the idea of hospital.  “All you want is a few of these tablets,” he said, “and you’ll be fit as nails in a day or two.”

Frederick crawled away dispiritedly to confide in Percival.  That sapient youth counselled perseverance.