“Your wife is very fond of children, Dr. Murchison.”
He looked into the distance, and then at the laughing girl of four.
“She lost a child, and that means much to a woman.”
“Ah, of course, undoubtedly. Poor little creature!” and her ladyship tended benignly in the direction of the awning.
Canon Stensly and Murchison were left alone together by one of the tents. A man was delirious within it, and they could hear the meaningless patter of fever flowing in one monotonous tone.
“A doctor’s life is no sinecure,” and he stroked his firm round chin.
“No, perhaps no. We walk daily at the edge of a precipice. And yet it has great compensations.”
They were silent a moment, watching Lady Sophia trying to coquet with a rather overpowered child.
“You have heard about Steel?”
“Yes, my wife told me.”