"Not much the matter," she said. "I got jumbled up in the Strand, and the side-slipping of a motor threw me under a dray. The wheels did not go over me, and I have not come home to die or anything of that kind. I got a blow on the head, and I suppose I fainted. When I came to myself I was in Charing Cross Hospital. Dr. Newcome was very kind to me, and insisted on seeing me home in a cab. Strange as it may seem, Dr. Newcome is an old acquaintance of mine, Mary. This is Miss Dashwood."
"I am very happy to see you," the doctor said in a pleasant voice. "I am also glad to say that there is very little the matter with Miss Colam. I am almost glad of the accident because it has brought Miss Colam and myself in contact once more. I met her two years ago at Hastings, when I was getting over a bad illness."
"Then Dr. Newcome is your doctor, Connie," Mary cried.
Connie flushed to her eyes. The stranger dropped his Evening Standard on the table and affected to fold it neatly.
"I wish I could think so," he said. "We only met for a day. Dreadfully unconventional, was it not? But I was very lonely at that time and very ill. My outlook was rather gloomy, too. But I wanted to see Miss Colam again, and when I got back to London I called at her rooms only to find her gone. I hope she will believe me when I say that I have been looking for her ever since."
"The fortune of war," Connie said with a red face. "Nomads like ourselves are always changing quarters. And here I am just as poor as I was that day at Fairlight. I hope you can say more for your prospects, Dr. Newcome?"
"I have been very fortunate," Newcome said gravely. "A distant relative died and left me some money. The money arrived just in time to enable me to buy an exceedingly good practice. I was calling on a house surgeon friend of mine at Charing Cross, when Miss Colam came in. And I do hope she won't change her lodgings again without letting me know."
There was no mistaking the significance of the last few words. Clearly Connie had found the haven of rest for which her tired soul at times longed for. Mary remembered what she had said as to the man to cling to for protection in the hour of need, and what a blessed thing the man's love was for the lonely and depressed. In her mind's eye Mary could see herself alone in those dingy lodgings, painting her postcards and waiting for, what? It was, perhaps natural that the figure of Ralph Darnley should rise before her now.
"I won't," Connie promised. "You will come and see me again, Dr. Newcome?"
Newcome promised eagerly. He would be in town again in a day or two. Would the girls dine with him, and go to the theatre afterwards? He had an aunt in London, who he was sure would join the party. He would ask her to call on Connie.