"The San Francisco boat is due here from Sydney next Tuesday. She's to sail on that."
That was in five days' time. It was next day, when he was coming back from the hospital where for want of something better to do Macphail spent most of his mornings, that the half-caste stopped him as he was going upstairs.
"Excuse me, Dr Macphail, Miss Thompson's sick. Will you have a look at her."
"Certainly."
Horn led him to her room. She was sitting in a chair idly, neither reading nor sewing, staring in front of her. She wore her white dress and the large hat with the flowers on it. Macphail noticed that her skin was yellow and muddy under her powder, and her eyes were heavy.
"I'm sorry to hear you're not well," he said.
"Oh, I ain't sick really. I just said that, because I just had to see you. I've got to clear on a boat that's going to 'Frisco."
She looked at him and he saw that her eyes were suddenly startled. She opened and clenched her hands spasmodically. The trader stood at the door, listening.
"So I understand," said the doctor.
She gave a little gulp.