"Dr. Pinsent," said Miss Ottley, "it is my opinion that my father is not quite right in his mind."
"Dr. Belleville is a F. R. C. S.," said I.
"I am afraid of him—my own father," she said, in a tragic tone. "I have a feeling that he hates me, that he wants to—to destroy me."
"Captain Weldon would lay down his life for you, I think," said I.
She put a hand on my breast and looked me straight in the eye. "I could not tell this to Dr. Belleville, nor to the other," she half whispered.
I thrilled all over. "All right," I said, cheerily. "Just stand aside till I load your little beastie, will you?"
Her whole face lighted up. "Ah! I knew you would not desert me," she said.
But we did not speak again all the way to the Hill of Rakh. We were too busy thinking; the two of us. When we arrived she flitted off, still silent. Captain Weldon came to me. "I want you to share my tent," said he. "I have a tub for you in waiting, and some fresh linen laid out, if you'll honour me by wearing it."
"You are a brick," I replied, and took his arm. But at the door of the biggest tent in the whole camp to which he brought me I paused in wonder. It was a sort of lady's bower within. The floor was laid with rugs, and the sloped canvas walls were hung with silken frills; and women's photographs littered the fold-up dressing-table. They were all of the same face, though, those latter; the face of Miss Ottley.
"Sybarite!" I cried.