"There; it is done, doctor."
"And neatly done, too," says Aunt Gwen, with a nod and a look of pride.
"I thank you sincerely, Lady Ruth."
"Ah! you are a thousand times welcome. There is not a woman in Valetta who would not feel it an honor to bind up the wound of the hero who saved that Maltese child," says this young lady, frankly.
More shouts without.
This time the men of Valetta are clamoring for the American to show himself. They do not know much of America, but they recognize true grit wherever they meet it.
Of course, a rush is made for the balcony, but John remains behind.
He is feeling somewhat weak after the exciting events of the afternoon.
And, as he sits there, smiling to hear the clamor without—for he is human, this young Chicago M.D.—some one touches his arm.
"Lady Ruth, I thought you went out with the rest," he stammers, with a guilty blush, for it chances that at the very moment he is thinking of her, and what a soft, electric touch she has, so soothing, so very delightful.