ee
Colonial patients were approaching. "Put that way," he said, "I feel
that it is my bounden duty to take a prolonged course of those
pleasures."

"Splendid," she cried, and her eyes were dancing merrily. "Come over
and lunch to-morrow. You can have Father and Aunt Jane first. You'll
like Aunt Jane, she's as deaf as a post and very bloodthirsty--and then
you can begin the course afterwards. One o'clock, and it's about half
an hour's walk. . . ."

With a nod she turned and left him. And if those of her friends who
knew Joan Devereux well had seen the look in her eyes as she turned to
her three Canadians, they would have hazarded a guess that there was
trouble brewing. They would further have hazarded a second guess as to
the form it was likely to take. And both guesses would have been
right. A young man, remarked Joan to herself, who would be all the
better for a fall; a young man who seemed very much too sure of
himself. Joan Devereux was quite capable of dealing with such cases as
they deserved, and she was a young woman of much experience.

CHAPTER VIII

It was the following morning that Vane received a second letter from
Margaret. He had written her once--a letter in which he had made no
allusion to their last meeting--and she had answered it. Cases were
still pouring in and she was very busy. When she did have a moment to
herself she was generally so tired that she lay down and went to sleep.
It was the letter of a girl obsessed with her work to the exclusion of
all outside things.

Of course he admired her for it--admired her intensely. It was so
characteristic of her, and she had such a wonderful character.
But--somehow . . . he had wished for something a little more basely
material. And so with this second one. He read it through once at
breakfast, and then, with a thoughtful look in his eyes, he took it
with him to a chair on the big verandah which ran along the whole of
the front of Rumfold Hall. The awning above it had been specially
erected for the benefit of the patients and Vane pulled one of the
lounge chairs back from the stone balustrade, so that his face was
shaded from the sun. It was a favourite spot of his, and now, with
Margaret's letter outspread beside him, and his pipe held between his
knees, he commenced to fill the bowl. He was becoming fairly quick at
the operation, but long after it was well alight he was still staring
at the misty line of distant hills. Away