Paula's eyes, keen as a knife-point, were upon the V. A. D.'s face.
“I'm glad to know you,” she said frankly, offering her hand. “Principally,” she added, with a little laugh, “because you know Barry.”
The V. A. D. bowed with the slight reserve characteristic of her, and took Paula's hand.
“I, too, am pleased,” she said, “to meet a friend of Captain Dunbar.” Then she added with increased cordiality, “and I'm glad to meet an American in France. I know your matron, and some of the nurses.”
“Good!” cried Paula. “Now, then, you'll both of you take lunch with me.”
The V. A. D. demurred.
“Of course you will,” cried Paula. “Oh, Barry, I'm just ready to die from seeing you again. Come along!” she cried, impulsively, catching the V. A. D. by the arm. “Come along and park your buzzwagon here beside mine.”
She ran to her car, sprang in and whirled it into place before the V. A. D. had hers well started.
Barry waited where they had left him. The sudden appearing of Paula had stirred within him depths of feeling that almost overpowered him. His mind was far away in Athabasca, once more he was seeing the dark pool, the swiftly flowing water, the campfire, and his father bending over it. His heart was quivering as if a hand had been rudely thrust into a raw wound in it.
The V. A. D. held Paula a few moments beside her car, speaking quickly and earnestly. When they rejoined Barry, Paula's eyes were soft with unshed tears, and her voice was very gentle.