Dr Alice Bateson took the proffered hand without replying, and the two women exchanged a frank critical survey. Both seemed to be satisfied with the result. Dr Bateson had come in without gloves, and with a shawl thrown carelessly about her girlish figure. Her hat had seen palmier days, but its bent brim shaded a pair of earnest brown eyes and a resolute mouth.
"She means work," thought Mona. "There is no humbug about her."
"The girl has some nous," thought the doctor. "She would keep her head in an emergency."
"Well, and how are you?" she said, turning with brusque kindness to Lucy.
"Oh, I am all right—not beyond the need of your stiletto yet, though," and she held out a pretty white arm.
The medical visit did not last more than three minutes. Dr Bateson took no fees from medical students, and she had too many patients on her books to waste much time over them, unless there seemed to be a chance that she could be of definite use, physical or moral. She had spent hours with Lucy when things were at their worst, but minutes were ample now.
"Oh yes. Miss Reynolds will do famously," she said to Mona, who had left the room with her. "Fortunately I was close at hand, and she sent for me in time. With a temperament like hers, the temperature runs up and down very readily, and it went up so quickly that I was rather uneasy, but it never reached a really alarming height. Good night, Miss Maclean. I hope we shall see you at 'The New' before long."
"Thank you; there is nothing I should like better than to work under you at the Women's Hospital," and Mona ran back to Lucy's room.
"Now, my baby," she said caressingly, "I will arrange your pillows, and you shall go to sleep like a good child."
"Sleep," said Lucy dreamily. "I don't sleep. I go through the looking-glass into the queerest, most fantastic world you can imagine. C'est magnifique—mais—ce n'est pas—le—sommeil." She roused herself with a slight effort. "About three I go to sleep, and don't wake till ten. How good it will be to see you beside me in the morning!"