Never in all his life had Cameron had anything so surprising happen to him. He looked at the girl, whom he managed to carry to the couch; he turned to the dog whose faithful eyes rather steadied him, then he applied all the remedies that one does at such times. Eventually Joan revived, but she stared vacantly at the face above her and did not attempt to speak.
Presently Cameron called in his nurse.
"I think it is brain fever," he explained to the cool, capable woman who asked naturally:
"Who is she?"
"The Lord knows."
"Where did she come from? Where does she belong?"
"The Lord knows. She just came in with the dog and then dropped after asking me to care for—for Cuff—yes, that's what she called him—then she went off."
"It's a duck of a dog," the nurse remarked as one does make inane remarks at a critical time. Then:
"Have you looked in her bag?"
"Certainly not!"