“Who else in thunder should I mean? There is but one woman doctor in the world, so far as I know. Didn’t she find me in that infernal hole, wedged in it like a rat in a trap? And didn’t she patch my broken bones, like a trained physician, when there wasn’t a man in a hundred miles that could have done it?”
“It is never wise to argue a point with a man in a fever, Mr. Burns. We can talk it out later on. See! Mamma has brought soap, fresh water, and towels. You couldn’t have a better nurse. You must let her bathe your face and hands and head.”
“Won’t you take her place, Daphne?”
Captain Ranger and Mrs. Benson were not listening or looking just then; and as for an instant their eyes met, the patient felt upon his fevered forehead the fluttering touch of a soft, cool hand.
“Delicious!” he whispered. “I shall get well now.”
“Allow me,” said Mrs. Benson, elbowing her daughter aside; “I am head nurse in this ward.”
The patient groaned.
“The Captain says you ought to have been a man, Daphne,” said Mrs. Benson, as her daughter yielded her place.
“If my father had lived to see this day, he would have rejoiced that I didn’t allow my usefulness to run to waste because of my femininity. Of that I am as certain as that my patient is better.”
“You are a disobedient and ungrateful girl, Daphne.”