He took the note the sailor handed him and glanced at the address. It was in an unfamiliar feminine hand. Opening it quickly, he read:
"Will Dr. Sinclair be so good as to accept the accompanying refreshments from me?
"JESSIE MACALLISTER."
In spite of the mood of intense concentration which was always on him when he was at work, in spite of his rigid self-control, a slow flush showed in his face, doubtful under the tan, but certain when it climbed above the border-line of the sunburn. It was not so much the act, though that in itself would have been enough to quicken his pulses. It was the form of the brief epistle. She had started to write a purely formal note, but had ended by making it warmly personal.... "From me. Jessie MacAllister."
"I have no paper on which to write an answer, except a leaf out of a pocketbook. You will have to make apologies for me."
"I shall do my very best, sir," replied the sailor, with a grin, as he took the hastily-scribbled note of thanks, for the big, kindly doctor had, without an effort, got the good-will of this man, as he did of nearly every man his life touched.
Sinclair hastily swallowed several cups of tea, ate a piece of chicken, and, telling his student assistants to distribute the rest among the wounded, turned again to his work of mercy. But all the while four words kept writing and re-writing themselves upon his brain: "From me. Jessie MacAllister."
It was the first time that he had seen her full name written. It had always been "Miss MacAllister." Certain definite pictures had been formed in his mind with which that appellation was connected. Sometimes stately and magnificent, sometimes teasing and whimsical; sometimes kind, sometimes cruel; those clear-cut portraits were connected inseparably with the name "Miss MacAllister." But some way "Jessie MacAllister" was different. It suggested something more intimate, more confidential, more tender than the other had ever done. What could it mean?
Again and again he asked himself that question: "What could it mean?" Was she only playing with him? The week before the last bombardment she had been exceedingly kind. Then she had suddenly turned and treated him cruelly. Was she trying the same trick again? His jaw set and his lips closed tightly. She wouldn't catch him like that again.
But another thought would pass through his mind. This was different. There was something about this two-line note which he had never experienced before.... "From me. Jessie MacAllister."