“Miss Dear to see you Miss.”

“Is there anyone else in the waiting room?”

“No miss—nobody.”

Miriam went in briskly.... “Well? How is the decayed gentlewoman?” she said briskly from the doorway. She hardly looked. She had taken in the close-fitting bonnet and chin bow and the height-giving look of the long blue uniform cloak together with the general aspect of the heavily shaded afternoon room....

“Oh, she’s very well.”

Miss Dear had stood quite still in her place half way down the room between the sofa and the littered waiting room table. She made a small controlled movement with her right hand as Miriam approached. Miriam paused with her hand on a “Navy League,” absorbed in the low sweet even tone. She found herself standing reverently, pulled up a few inches from the dark figure. Suddenly she was alight with the radiance of an uncontrollable smile. Her downcast eyes were fixed upon a tall slender figure in a skimpy black dress, tendrils of fine gold hair dancing in the rough wind under a cornflower blue toque, a clear living rose-flush.... Something making one delicate figure more than the open width of the afternoon, the blue afternoon sea and sky. She looked up. The shy sweet flower pink face glowed more intensely under the cap of gold hair clasped flatly down by the blue velvet rim of the bonnet. The eyes, now like Weymouth Bay, now like Julia Doyle’s, now a clear expressionless blue, were fixed on hers; the hesitating face was breaking again into watchful speech. But there was no speech in the well-remembered outlines moulding the ominous cloak. Miriam flung out to stem the voice, rushing into phrases to open the way to the hall and the front door. Miss Dear stood smiling and laughing her little smothered obsequious laugh, just as she had done at Bognor, making one feel like a man.

“Well—I’m most frightfully busy,” wound up Miriam cheerfully turning to the door. “That’s London—isn’t it? One never has a minute.”

Miss Dear did not move. “I came to thank you for the concert tickets,” she said in the even thoughtful voice that dispersed one’s thoughts.

“Oh yes. Was it any good?”

“I enjoyed it immensely,” said Miss Dear gravely. “So did Sister North,” she added, shaking out the words in delicate laughter.

... I don’t know ‘Sister North.’ ... “Oh, good,” said Miriam opening the door.

“It was most kind of you to send them. I’m going to a case to-morrow, but I shall hope to see you when I come back.”

“Sister North sported a swell new blouse” said Miss Dear in clear intimate tones as she paused in the hall to take up her umbrella.

“I hope it won’t rain,” said Miriam formally, opening the front door.

“She was no end of a swell” pursued Miss Dear, hitching her cloak and skirt from her heels with a neat cuffed gloved hand, quirked compactly against her person just under her waist and turned so that her elbow and forearm made a small compact angle against her person. She spoke over her shoulder, her form slenderly poised forward to descend the steps; “I told her she would knock them.” She was aglow with the afternoon sunlight streaming down the street.

Miriam spoke as she stepped down with delicate plunges. She did not hear and paused turning on the last step. “It was too bad of you” shouted Miriam smiling “to leave my sister alone at the Decayed Gentlewomen’s.”

“I couldn’t help myself,” gleamed Miss Dear. “My time was up.”

“Did you hate being there?”

Miss Dear hung, poised and swaying to some inner breeze. Miriam gazed, waiting for her words, watching the in-turned eyes control the sweet lips flowering for speech.

“It was rather comical”—the eyes came round, clear pure blue;—“until your sister came.” The tall slender figure faced the length of the street; the long thin blue cloak flickering all over gave Miriam a foresight of the coming swift hesitating conversational progress of the figure along the pavement, the poise of the delicate surmounting head, slightly bent, the pure brow foremost, shading the lowered thoughtful eyes, the clear little rounded dip of the chin indrawn.

“I’m glad she gave me your address,” finished Miss Dear a little furrow running along her brow in control of the dimpling flushed oval below it. “I’ll say au revoir and not good bye for the present.”

“Good bye,” flung Miriam stiffly at the departing face. Shutting the neglected door she hurried back through the hall and resumed her consciousness of Wimpole Street with angry, eager swiftness.... Eve, getting mixed up with people ... it is right ... she would not have been angry if I had asked her to be nice to somebody.... I did not mean to do anything ... I was proud of having the tickets to send ... if I had not sent them I should have had the thought of all those nurses, longing for something to do between cases. They are just the people for the Students Concerts ... if she comes again.... “I can’t have social life, unfortunately,” how furious I shall feel saying that “you see I’m so fearfully full up—lectures every night and I’m away every week end ... and I’m not supposed to see people here——”