“Yes, the Women’s Hospital, to which I go twice a-week to read and sing to the patients. It is a great occasion there to-day—the anniversary of the opening, so that I can take you in, and the poor things are all longing to see you.”
“Why, what do they know about me?”
“What I have told them, of course. Do you know, Dick, I sometimes feel as though I had no business to be so well and rich and happy among so many sufferers. It seems as though they must hate me, or, at any rate, feel that I can’t sympathise with them. And then, when you were shut up in Fort Rahmat-Ullah, and uncle and I were so fearfully anxious, I really couldn’t go on just as usual, and I told the women about you, and they were so nice. Of their own accord they asked the clergyman, who comes and holds a service in the wards on Sundays, to mention your name in the prayers, and they watched the papers for every scrap of news about you. When at last we heard how you had got through the enemy and brought help, I took the paper to the hospital, but I couldn’t read a bit. I simply broke down and cried like a great baby, and the women were in a dreadful state of anxiety. At last I gave the account to one of them, and she read it aloud in a high, cracked voice, making the most horrible hash of the names, and the rest all cried too. They have regarded you as their personal property ever since, and when they heard of all your honours, they were as much pleased as I was. ‘Your brother ’ave gort permoted, miss!’ was what they all called out to me when I came in one day, and I never had such a piece of work in my life as when I tried to explain to them what brevet rank was. I’m afraid even now they are under the impression that you have been very badly treated, and defrauded of the promotion you ought to have received, and they sympathise with you very deeply. Several of them have pictures of you, cut out of the illustrated papers, folded up in their lockers, and bring them out to show people, and all the new patients are carefully instructed in the history of the presiding genius. ‘That’s our Miss North’s brother,’ the old ones tell them, and then all the details follow. Now, Dick, you will come, won’t you?”
“If you really want me, old girl,” and Dick threw down his paper without a murmur. “I feel as if I owed you something for the horrible scare you got when you heard we were cut off, and so I’ll do violence to my natural modesty to the extent of coming and exhibiting myself to your old women.”
Mabel North was not a little proud of her brother as she conducted him into the hospital an hour or so later. He looked such a splendid manly fellow, she thought, with the glamour of his past exploits surrounding him like an aureole, that she wondered how other women could care to display their wretched dandified relatives beside him. In the fulness of her satisfaction, she marched him through various rooms and corridors, and presented him to a number of resplendent ladies who appeared to be receiving the guests, before there was any question of going up-stairs to visit the wards. Then she was seized upon by a suave person of business-like appearance, who turned out to be the secretary, for a few minutes’ confidential talk, and Dick, rather bewildered by his experiences, and wondering why a hospital should employ a lady as secretary, took refuge in the society of a man he had met at his club.
“Isn’t this gathering slightly—er—informal?” he asked. “Don’t the doctors, or governors, or whatever they call the authorities of the place, show up at all? All the men here look as though they had been brought by their lady friends.”
“Brought?” said the other man, “that’s it exactly. My wife brought me, your sister brought you, and Mountchesnay and the Archdeacon have been brought by their female relatives in just the same way. We are here on sufferance, don’t you know, just to open our minds and enlarge our views.”
“Is it a ladies’ day, then?”
“No, but the ladies boss the show here. Don’t you know that this is the hospital of the future, manned entirely by women? The tyrant man is in his rightful sphere here, quite at a discount. They think nothing of him. Why, there’s not a man on the premises but the porter, and he is there rather to overawe the relations of the patients than to help the ladies. But do you mean to say that Miss North brought you here without explaining the state of things? It wasn’t fair; she might have given you a shock.”
“But who are the burra mems—the great ladies—in the other room?”