Pursuant to that determination she had left word at the office that she wished to communicate with Doctor Merrick as soon as he returned from breakfast and the brief nap he had promised himself. When the message came up that the young American surgeon was in the building, Julie went to the stairs to meet him. He greeted her warmly, told her she had been very faithful, suggested she would be better off for a few hours’ sleep. He would see to it that she was relieved at once.
She shook her head.
“I am not sleepy. I shall wait until this afternoon. Doctor Ardmore told me my patient was not to know who was treating her. So—I have restored the bandage to her eyes. I told her they should not encounter the strong light for several hours. I hope I haven’t done wrong, sir.”
“You are very resourceful,” said Bobby, endeavouring to keep a straight face. “Is there, by any chance, something else I ought to know before looking in?”
She coloured with conscious pride.
“Yes, sir. If you don’t mind, I have told her that since she does not speak Italian fluently, whatever conversation she may have with you is to be interpreted by me … And Doctor Donelli can be asked in, this morning, while you make the examination. Is that agreeable?”
“Miss Craig,” said Bobby solemnly, “you’re wasting your talents here. You should belong to the diplomatic corps.”
“I hope you’re not making fun, sir … Doctor Ardmore said she wasn’t to know—and I saw no other way of keeping it from her.”
“You have done very nicely,” commended Bobby. “I’ll wash up and change my coat.”
Helen had been creeping out of her etherized torpor, at closer intervals of full consciousness, since seven; had even smiled gratefully under Julie’s little tendernesses.
“So glad!” she had murmured when Julie assured her she was going to be well and sound as ever.
“And—I can see!”
She raised a white hand and tugged weakly at the edge of the bandage over her eyes. Julie hastened to restore it.
“Tomorrow, perhaps,” she promised. “He wants them protected today.”
“Very well,” with an obedient sigh, “he ought to know, I suppose.”
Julie was a tense little figure when Doctor Merrick came in, arrayed in his borrowed surgical gown, accompanied by the volatile Donelli who greeted her with a bombardment of praise for having contributed so much to this happy eventuality. She returned a volley warning him against an accidental disclosure of their secret. Donelli nodded vigorously and chuckled.
Doctor Merrick stepped at once to the bedside table, consulted the chart, and proceeded to verify the latest pulse-count.
“Please tell the doctor,” said Helen slowly, “that the bandage around my chest is so very tight. Could he make it more comfortable?”
Julie dutifully relayed the request in a swift Italian sentence composed of one word of two hundred syllables—mostly vowels.
Seeing that the surgical bandage around her chest had been Donelli’s affair, it was only a natural courtesy for Doctor Merrick to permit his colleague to decide whether or not he wished it changed. Stepping back, he silently signed to Doctor Donelli that this matter was up to him. But Donelli vehemently protested, with outspread fingers, that he was only too eager to discover his guest’s technique.
The opportunity for a debate not being favourable, Bobby turned down the sheet, examined the broad bandage, unpinned it, unfolded it down to the creamy-white satin skin, carefully inspected the discoloured field of the fractures, and expertly replaced the bandage.
“Oh—that is ever so much better,” sighed his patient, gratefully.
Julie shook loose a cascade of musical Italian, and the doctor grunted his receipt of it.
“He has very gentle hands,” murmured Helen sleepily.
“Shall I tell him that, madame?” asked Julie, her eyes brightly searching his face.
“No … Tell him I am thankful he has made me see again.”
Impulsively Bobby entertained a foolhardy notion. In a clumsy Italian phrase, remembered from boyhood, he mumbled something about the pleasure being all his own—and dismayed by his own audacity, walked to the window to write a prescription.
Julie’s eyes were intent upon her patient’s half-covered face. She was about to interpret the doctor’s remark when she noted that the full lips parted; then, that the lower lip was gently pinioned between an even row of white teeth, while the dimples deepened ever so little and a slow flush crept across her cheeks.
With agitated fingers, Julie refastened the smock at the throat, her sentimental little heart beating wildly … She knows!—thought Julie … Bending over her, she said gently:
“But perhaps you understood what the doctor was just saying. Is it not so?”
There was no reply. She had drowsed off again. But the smile lingered on her lips, and the flush lingered on her cheeks.
As they went out, Doctor Merrick beckoned Julie to the door and said, in an undertone:
“You might remove that bandage from her eyes while she sleeps. It will be more comfortable.”
Two hours later she roused again. Having soberly regarded Julie for some minutes, she fumbled at the neck of her smock and drew out the little silver cross. Holding it tightly in both hands and pressing it to her heart, she inquired:
“How did you know I wanted it?”
“I did not know, madame; or you should have had it from the first.”
There was a long pause.
“When did you put it on me? I just now discovered it.”
“I did not put it on you, madame.”
There was another long silence.
Observing that her patient was dabbing clumsily at her eyes with the corner of the sheet, Julie hastened to restore her handkerchief; then turned and walked thoughtfully to the window.
“Did you see him do it?”
Julie did not turn from the window as she replied, unsteadily:
“No, madame. He invited me to leave the room.”
“The—poor—dear!”
At nine that evening Marion Dawson arrived and Bobby
