“Oh, yes, Doctor Leaver.” Jane looked up eagerly.
“Come out here, please, where we can talk a minute,” and the tall surgeon led her across the ward to an open door. He paused beside her in this doorway, drawing in deeply the cool damp air which poured in from outside, for the night like so many nights in France was wet. He passed his hand across his brow, smoothing back the dark, straight hair, moist with his unceasing labours.
“My word, but that feels good!” he said. “There are places in the world still, that don’t smell of carbolic and ether.” And he smiled at Jane, who smiled back. “How many hours’ sleep have you had in the last forty-eight?” he questioned suddenly, eyeing understandingly the violet shadows beneath her eyes.
“As many as you—or more—Doctor Leaver,” she answered lightly. “I’ve learned to do without, now—as you did, long ago.”
“Nobody ever learns to do without. Get some to-night, please, without fail.”
“You sound like a surgeon I know back home,” she said. She knew he would welcome a bit of relaxation from discipline during this brief interval of rest.
“Who? Red Pepper Burns?”
“Indeed, yes! How could you know?” she asked, though less surprised than she might have been if she had not already had many strange encounters, here in this land of strangers.
“He’s the best friend I have in the world—as he is that of plenty of other people. If you know him, Miss Ray, you understand that my heart warms at the very mention of him.”
She nodded. “You knew how he wanted to come over?”