oks like
St. Francis of Assisi, wedded to Death instead of Poverty--and coughs--fit
to tear your heart. B'rrh!" she shuddered.

He repeated: "I'll see what can be done to-morrow. These cases are
deceptive. There may be a gleam of hope."

"There is one doubt about the case which might infer a hope. I don't know
what discoveries the London doctors made, but I wormed out of the
chart-nurse, who plainly adores him, that the doctors in Gueldersdorp
can't scare up a bacillus for the life of them."

His eyes lightened involuntary admiration, though his tone was jesting.

"You're thrown away on mere journalism. Criminal Investigation or Secret
Intelligence would offer wider fields for your abilities."

"Wait!" she said, her beady eyes black diamonds. "I shall hope to prove
one day that an English woman-journalist can be as useful as a Boer spy in
the matter of useful information. Why, why am I not a man? You only don't
trust me because I am a woman."

He had touched the rankling point in her ambition. He applied balm as he
knew how.

"Your being a woman may have made all the difference--for Fraithorn. I
shall set Taggart of the R.A.M.C. at him to-morrow; the Major's a bit of a
crack at pulmonary cases. And he shall consult with Saxham, and----"

"Saxham." Her eyebrows were knitted. "I thought I knew the names of your
Medical Staff men. But I can't recall a Saxham."

"This Saxham is Civilian--and rather a big pot--M.D., F.R.C.S., and lots
more. We're lucky to have got him."

She stiffened, scenting the paragraph.

"Can it be that you mean the Dr. Saxham of the Old Bailey Case?"

"The Jury acquitted, let me remind you."

"I believe so," she said; "but--he vanished afterwards. I think an
innocent man would have stopped and faced the music, and not beaten a
retreat with the Wedding March almost sounding in his ears. But--who
knows? You have met his brother, Captain Saxham, of the --th Dragoons? It
was he who stepped into the matrimonial breach, and married the young
woman."

"The young woman?"

"His brother's fiancee--an heiress of the Dorsetshire Lee-Haileys, and
rather a pretty-faced, silly person, with a penchant for French novels and
sulphonal tabloids. I always shall believe that she liked the handsome
Dragoon best, and took advantage of the Doctor's being--under the cloud of
acquittal by a British Jury, to give him what the dear Irish call 'the
back of her hand.'"

"The better luck for him!"

"It was mer