Hospital Corridors (9 page)

“Very well, Mrs. Sanders,” Madeline promised. And then she made her escape, determined not to let this scene spoil any part of her pleasure in the coming weekend—if only for the fact that she was sure Mrs. Sanders had staged it with that exact object in view.

Even so, Madeline felt that her nerves were more taut than she could have wished, until that moment when she came out of the Nurses’ Home and found Morton sitting there in the car, waiting for her.

Her heart leapt at the sight of him, and a sensation of joy rose in her which seemed to reduce all such irritations as the bracelet incident to infinitesimal proportions. As Morton put her case in the back of the car and settled her in the seat beside him, she thought, “This could be one of the most important weekends of my life. I’m not going to let anything spoil it.”

For the first twenty-five miles their route was very much the same as on the evening when he had driven her out to the lakeside inn. But presently they began to bear more to the right, choosing side roads, rather than the main highway.

“How far do we have to go, Morton?” she enquired, settling more comfortably in her seat and enjoying the more wooded scene which began to appear now that they had left the useful but unattractive highway.

“Rather less than sixty miles now. We go about two-thirds of the way to Mont Laurier, which is something of a frontier town,”
Morton explained. “Most of the country between here and Mont Laurier is what you might call holiday country. In winter there’s skiing everywhere, and in summer swimming and sport of all kinds. Some of the villages and settlements are quite sophisticated and much patronized by visitors, and some are almost primitive and retain something of a lumber camp atmosphere.”

“I’d like to see some of those!”

“You shall, as we go through,” he promised. “From Mont Laurier and beyond the Barriere stretches real pioneer country, right away to the borders of Ontario. That’s where you find some of the most picturesque of the gold-mining centres.”

“Morton, it’s fascinating! We’ve left one of the most modern cities behind less than an hour ago, and you talk of gold-mining, which always seems to me to be just something out of adventure stories in the school library!”

He laughed at that.

“Well, it’s not all that romantic in fact, I suppose, but the search for gold will always have a peculiar fascination. We don’t go anything like as far as that today, Madeline. Not even to the edge of civilization at Mont Laurier.”

“No, I know. But—to think that it’s there. Just over the horizon.” And she gestured ahead to where tree-covered slopes were beginning to build up a lovely picture against the skyline.

“I guess nearly everything we want is just over the horizon,” Morton said lightly, and again she noticed that slight touch of bitterness which she had sometimes noticed in even his gayest remarks.

“And why not?” she countered with spirit “I believe in the saying that it’s better to travel hopefully than to arrive. Though of course I like the arrivals too,” she conceded suddenly.

He laughed.

“You like it all, my optimistic and trusting Madeline,” he mocked. “But that, I suppose, is why you’re lovely to be with.”

She was silent then. Not because she minded his teasing her, but because he had admitted, inadvertently perhaps, that he loved to be in her company. That was why he had risked his mother’s violent disapproval, why he had insisted on their friendship being open and therefore capable of—almost any extension. He thought her worth some family difficulties. And Morton did not, she thought, often go halfway to meet difficulties.

On into the early evening they drove. And, as he had promised, they passed through villages and settlements which, with their scattered log cabins and their massed fir trees, looked like lumber camps out of some adventure story. They also passed through well-planned little towns, with their churches and their small civic centres, their villas and their bungalows. These were crowded with sunburned visitors, some of whom waved in a friendly way as they passed.

“It’s a wonderful country,” Madeline said lazily and happily.

“I hope it’s going to be a wonderful weekend,” Morton countered.

And when at last they arrived at the Elliotts’ place, Madeline felt the immediate conviction that it was going to be wonderful indeed. Not in her most extravagant imaginations had she thought of anything like this, and as Morton drove up the long, rather rough path which led from the gate to the villa at the top of the hill, she looked round her in astonishment and realized that only in the New World could one expect to find estates of this type now.

Bonaventure, which the Elliotts had called after the small pirate island at the mouth of the St. Lawrence, was approached by road from the back. But, as the path swept round, Madeline realized that in reality the house itself faced the lake, standing rather high above it on a series of half-wild, half-cultivated terraces. In design, the house was something between an Italian villa and an American luxury dwelling, with immense “picture-frame” windows which gave superb views of the lake and the surrounding mountains.

There were one or two cars already parked casually in the semi-circular space in front of the wide-open door, and here Morton also drew up his car. As they got out and walked towards the house, Madeline felt a mixture of excitement and slight nervousness. It seemed there was, as Mrs. Sanders had said to be something of a party at Bonaventure and a certain shyness overcame her at the thought of having to meet a number of—presumably—smart and wealthy strangers.

Nothing, however, could have exceeded the warmth of her hostess’s welcome. Judy Elliott, still slim and girlish of figure, though her beautifully groomed hair was grey, kissed Morton on both cheeks and then turned to take Madeline’s hands with an air of warmth and pleasure.

“My dear, I’m so glad you were able to come! Anyone from England is as welcome here as a daughter of the house. Let me take you upstairs and show you your room right away, or would you like a drink first?”

Madeline said that she would see her room first, and willingly went up the graceful, wide, shallow staircase, her hand still held in Judy Elliott’s warm, capable fingers.

“I can’t tell you how pleased I was to be invited,” she said a little shyly. “But I had no idea it was such a beautiful place as this.”

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Mrs. Elliott flashed a smile at her. “I think it’s the loveliest place in the world, and I never pretend anything else. Don and I married on love and a lettuce leaf, and we’ve been happy in every home we had, beginning with what I guess you’d call a shack in a mining town where he was a prospecting engineer. Then (I don’t know if Morton told you) we were in Alberta when the first oil strikes were made. We’ve been incredibly lucky, and in the last five years we were able to build Bonaventure. I think it’s so stupid to pretend one isn’t thrilled with one’s own good fortune don’t you?”

“Indeed I do.” Madeline smiled in return, knowing from that moment that she was going to like Judy Elliott. “And I think it’s dreadfully mean-spirited if you can’t thrill over someone else’s good fortune too. I’m so glad you have Bonaventure.”

“Dear girl!” Mrs. Elliott squeezed the hand she was holding. “Now, this is your room. I thought you would like one of the lake views.”

“Like it!” Entranced, Madeline crossed the white-carpeted room to the great window, and, sitting down on the low window-seat, she gazed in silence for some moments on the panorama of lake and mountain.

At this height, it seemed as though one could look out and drop a pebble into the clear blue water below, though in reality the graduated terraces made an easy descent. Mirrored in the calm water on the other side of the lake were the inevitable fir trees, though a small space had been cleared for a landing-stage, at which one or two gaily painted fishing-boats were moored. Beyond this, the ground rose again in wooded hills, until, on the highest and most distant, a rim of gold showed where the sun was setting.

“It simply couldn’t be more beautiful,” Madeline said softly at last. “I would have come to Canada for this alone.”

“Oh, I am glad!” Mrs. Elliott laughed with obvious delight “I thought this would be the room for you. It’s really Anne’s room—my daughter’s room, only—”

“But I don’t want to turn her out!” exclaimed Madeline. “I should be just as happy—”

“You’re not turning her out, my dear. She’s away visiting friends in New York, and won’t be back for another couple of weeks.”

“Oh—” Suddenly remembering the bracelet in her handbag, and feeling more than ever annoyed at having been burdened with it unnecessarily, Madeline almost told her hostess about it Then she remembered Mrs. Sanders’ rather mysterious insistence that the gift should be a matter between Anne and herself only. So instead, she changed what she had been going to say to:

“Mrs. Sanders spoke of her and thought I should be meeting her this weekend.”

“Diana did? Silly woman! I told her in my last letter that Anne had gone to New York.” Mrs. Elliott laughed. “But then, if you’ve nursed my cousin Diana, you know that she’s not greatly concerned with any affairs but her own.”

“N-no,” Madeline agreed, her slight hesitation not due to any doubt of that fact, but because she found it difficult to suppose that, in the circumstances, Mrs. Sanders had really forgotten about Anne’s absence. And, that being so, her request became puzzling and just a little disturbing.

“You’ll probably meet Anne next time you come,” Mrs. Elliott said, with the pleasant implication that this would not be Madeline’s first and last visit. “Now I’ll leave you. There’s quite half an hour until dinner. We’re having it outside on the upper terrace, and no one will be wearing anything very formal. Just come down when you’re ready and you’ll find me somewhere about.”

Left alone, Madeline still lingered for a few minutes on the window-seat, looking out at the view. The immensity and yet the peace of the scene were unutterably soothing, and she would have liked to surrender herself entirely to the lazy contentment which seemed to enwrap her. But there was something which kept on administering a sort of warning prick to her consciousness.

Why had Mrs. Sanders played out that elaborate comedy with the bracelet? Madeline took the thing out of her handbag and ran it lightly through her fingers, so that the light glittered and flashed on the facets of the diamonds.

Of course she knew that Anne Elliott was away! It was true that she was almost insultingly oblivious of anything which did not concern her own affairs. But, at this moment, Anne did concern them. She had deliberately picked her for a role. It was inconceivable that she would not remember the reference to her in Mrs. Elliott’s recent letter.

But then perhaps she had been chosen for the very reason that she
would
be away. And then Madeline laughed suddenly and slipped the bracelet back into her bag. That was it, of course! Mrs. Sanders had no intention whatever of really parting with her bracelet. She wanted to mortify Madeline by giving her the task of taking it to someone else, thereby emphasizing that she at least should never have it. But she had chosen someone who would be safely out of the way. Which meant that the bracelet would inevitably return to her own safe keeping.

More amused than annoyed by now, Madeline had a bath in the beautiful grey and rose tiled bathroom adjoining her bedroom and changed into a white pique dress which was very simple in design except for its dramatically full and swirling skirt.

As she stood before the long mirror for a final inspection, she was pleased to see that she was already acquiring a honey-gold tan. There is no girl in the world who does not feel her spirits lift several points for the knowledge that she is looking her best, and the effect of that tan against the white dress and the smooth darkness of her hair gave Madeline just that feeling of uplift that was needed to make her grey eyes sparkle with delighted animation.

“Well, you do look beautifully fresh and cool,” declared Mrs. Elliott, coming out of her own room as Madeline crossed the upstairs landing. “Come down and meet some of the others. We’re not a big house-party, but usually a few extra drop in for the evening. By the way”—she hesitated at the top of the stairs, looking down for a moment into the big square hall below, where several people were already gathered in groups, talking and laughing—“at which hospital are you nursing? I know it’s where Diana went, but no one told me which that is. I had to send my letter to Morton to give to her.”

“Why, at the Dominion. It’s the very big new one, you know, out towards—”

“But of course! How very nice.” Mrs. Elliott started on down the stairs again. “Then there’s at any rate one person here who’ll be known to you by name at least Nat,” she called to someone in the nearest group, “come and meet a young colleague of yours from the Dominion.”

And, to Madeline’s mingled surprise and pleasure, before Morton, who had also started forward, could reach the foot of the stairs, Dr. Lanyon detached himself from the group and came forward to greet her, with that amused but not unkindly smile which she was coming to know so well.

CHAPTER VII

“Still
exercising your talent for appearing in unexpected places, I see,” Dr. Lanyon said, as he shook hands with Madeline. “I didn’t know you knew my friends the Elliotts.” “I’m only just making their acquaintance,” Madeline explained. “I came with—Morton Sanders.” She gestured a little nervously to Morton, now standing at her elbow. And, remembering her conversation with Dr. Lanyon on this subject, she blushed slightly.

The men greeted each other casually, like people who know each other slightly and have no pressing wish to improve the acquaintance further. Then Mrs. Elliott took Madeline round and introduced her to several other people. Everyone was very pleasant and friendly, and it was obvious that an atmosphere of informality and relaxation distinguished any party over which the Elliotts presided.

Don Elliott was a big, good-humoured man, who evidently adored his quick and lively wife, and Madeline could not help thinking how heart-warming it was to see large and sudden wealth in the hands of people who so obviously could not be spoiled by it.

Presently they all went out on to the first of the rough-cast terraces. Small tables were scattered about and everyone sat where they wished, while a large, appetizing and very informal meal was served.

“I never experienced anything more restful,” Madeline declared to Morton. “This scenery, and this household, and the general feeling that time is something to enjoy, and no longer a force to rule one’s life.”

“Yes.” Morton smiled, and even he seemed more at peace in this place. “Don and Judy certainly know how to live.” Then he added more quietly, so that the others sitting at their table should not hear, “I forgot that Lanyon might be here. Do you mind?”

“Mind?” Madeline looked astonished. “Why, no, of course not. Why should I? I rather like him.”

“Oh, that’s all right, then. I thought you might feel that he was an intrusive reminder of everyday duties in the middle of a holiday weekend.”

Madeline smiled and shook her head.

“Hardly, after the various ways he’s smoothed my path at the Dominion. I don’t associate him with the sterner side of my duties, I assure you.” And she looked across to where Nat Lanyon was engaged in animated conversation with his host.

Morton followed her glance with a faintly dissatisfied air, a little as though he thought Dr. Lanyon had engaged their attention quite long enough.

“Don has given several big donations to hospitals and research work, you know. That’s when he and Lanyon first came in contact He’ll be here on some such matter now, I guess.”

“How interesting!” Madeline’s smiling glance returned to Morton at that.

“Think so?” Morton, who had obviously meant to sum up and dismiss the whole subject of Nat Lanyon’s visit in his last remark, shrugged his shoulders. “What I meant was that he won’t be very much of a social asset during this weekend.”

“I suppose one doesn’t need to be a social asset if one is Dr. Lanyon,” Madeline replied soberly. “Although he impressed me very much on board ship, I had no idea until I got to the Dominion how he is regarded in his own world.”

“Tin god, you mean?” suggested Morton with a grin.

“No! No, I wouldn’t say that. But everyone believes in him and his miraculous skill so implicitly. There’s a saying, you know, that if Dr. Lanyon is operating there’s already a ten per cent better chance of recovery than with anyone else.”

“Is that so?” Morton said, and it suddenly dawned on Madeline that Dr. Lanyon and his miraculous skill in operating were subjects of which Morton had now heard enough.

So she laughed a little and changed the subject, and wondered if Morton were actually paying her the doubtful compliment of being a trifle jealous because she spoke with admiration of the famous surgeon.

The Elliotts seemed to take it for granted that Morton would like to show Madeline the further beauties of Bonaventure himself. At any rate, it was with him that she later descended the steps of the various terraces, until they stood together at the water’s edge.

“Morton, I can’t thank you enough for bringing me here.” She leaned her arms on the balustrade and looked down into the clear water. On one side a long arm of the terrace ran out into the lake, so that one could dive straight into the deeper water. On the other, a small landing-stage, like the one on the far side of the lake, had one or two boats moored beside it. “I think it’s the loveliest place I’ve ever seen.”

“Then it was well chosen for the loveliest person I’ve ever seen,” returned Morton. He too leaned his arms on the balustrade, but he turned his head to look at her, and she was tremendously aware of his nearness.

She refused to return his glance, but laughed lightly and said, “It’s a wonderful line, Morton. Do you often bring girls here and say that?”

He was silent for a moment, and suddenly she thought she could almost hear her own heart beating in the stillness. Then he said quietly,

“Why do you pretend to be so sceptical? You once reproved me for not believing in anything, you know.”

She caught her breath, but still strove to keep the conversation on a half-flippant level.

“You admitted the charge, if you remember,” she reminded him, and flung a laughing glance at him, but that was a mistake, because the unfamiliar, grave intensity of his gaze moved her strangely.

She looked away again quickly.

“But I made one qualification,” he reminded her in his turn, and suddenly he put his arm round her and drew her close against him. “Don’t you remember that I told you in the end that I believed in you?”

“You said you thought you did—and only a little. I remember that too.”

“You’re too exact,” he declared, and laughed as he kissed her. “Can’t you be satisfied with more than any other woman has ever made me admit?”

“Morton—please—I don’t want to make you admit things—or make love to me because it’s a lovely evening and a well-chosen spot, or—or—”

“Be quiet,” he said softly but peremptorily, and kissed her again. And this time she found herself replying, and after a moment she put her dark head down against his shoulder, and thought that perhaps this was why she had had to come to Canada; almost why she had had to be born into the world at all.

She was not quite sure how long she had been like that, or what absurd admissions she was prepared to make to him, but suddenly she was aware of voices on the terrace above them, and she realized that whoever was descending the last flight of steps must see them in a matter of a minute.

“Darling, let me go,” she whispered, and, breaking away from his encircling arm, she rapidly smoothed back her hair with agitated hands and tried to look as though life had not changed altogether since she herself had come down those steps a quarter of an hour ago.

It was their host and Dr. Lanyon who came into view a moment later, and, although there had been times when Madeline had been remarkably pleased to see Nat Lanyon, this was not one of them.

“Hello! Looking at the lake view?” enquired Don Elliott pleasantly. But Dr. Lanyon said nothing, though he gave an extremely keen and comprehensive glance over Madeline and Morton Sanders.

“Naturally,” Morton retorted a trifle sharply. “Don’t tell me you’ve come to do the same. You—and Lanyon too—must know it well enough by now.”

Don Elliott laughed good-humouredly.

“In a sense we came to have a look over the place. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t let you into the project. I’m thinking of giving over that stretch of land on the other side of the lake for a recuperation centre and wanted to know what Nat thought about it.”

“But it’s a
wonderful
idea!” cried Madeline, with an enthusiasm that drew a smile from her host. “No one could fail to get better in these heavenly surroundings.”

“It’s a remarkably generous offer,” Dr. Lanyon said. “I don’t know much about building and transport costs and difficulties, Don, but I can’t imagine that those could not be overcome if the land were available.”

“Imagine nursing here!” exclaimed Madeline.

“Well, there you are, Miss Gill. Your next assignment,” Dr. Lanyon said with a smile.

“It would be ages before the place was ready,” Morton declared, with rare irritation. “She’ll have gone back to England long before then.”

“How do you know?” enquired Dr. Lanyon coolly. “She may decide that her heart is in Canada.”

“I think not,” Morton retorted. And then he turned to Madeline again. “Shall we go up to the house? It’s getting cool down here.”

Madeline agreed, faintly put out by the slight suggestion of crossed swords between Morton and the famous surgeon.

So—she and Morton slowly ascended the steps once more, pausing occasionally to look back, in a mood of half-romantic contemplation, but not again achieving that almost passionate sense of intimacy which had enveloped them before the interruption had come.

There was dancing later, in the big, brightly lit drawing room, and the evening seemed to Madeline to slip away in a faint haze of gaiety and happiness. Everyone was kind to her and some of the guests were both charming and amusing. But what fed the flame of joy within her was the recollection of that scene on the terrace earlier in the evening.

Later, alone in her bedroom, she sat for a long while, watching the moon come up over the mountains to mirror itself on the lake below. And while she sat there she tried to decide how much Morton had meant—and how much she wished him to mean. That he fascinated her and stirred her pulses more than any other man had ever done, she admitted. But that was something different, of course, from the overwhelming understanding and attraction that could link two people together permanently.

“I mustn’t let the romance of the place and the circumstances run away with me,” Madeline assured herself very sensibly. But her last waking thought was of herself in Morton’s arms and his kisses warm on her cheek and lips.

She awoke early to a radiant summer morning, and went down to swim in the lake, hoping that Morton would join her there.

It seemed, however, that she was too early for the other house guests, and for a while she had the place to herself. Then Nat Lanyon, not Morton, came down to join her. He was a strong swimmer and a rather spectacular diver, and after a while she climbed out of the water and, wrapping herself in her towelling wrap, sat for a few minutes in the early morning sun, watching him.

Then presently he swam to the side of the terrace and called,

“Aren’t you coming in again?”

She shook her head.

“No. I’ve been in long enough. But go on doing your exhibition stuff. I like it.”

He laughed at that, however, and, supporting himself by his arms on the edge of the terrace, looked up at her quizzically and said,

“Someone else was doing his exhibition stuff down here yesterday evening,, wasn’t he?”

“Swimming, do you mean?”

“No. Fishing,” retorted Nat Lanyon, with an unexpectedly flashing smile, which half attracted, half annoyed her.

She flushed.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said rather coldly.

“Well, I see you do,” was the amused reply. “But I suppose it’s not my business. Still—be careful. Warier fish have been caught with poorer lines than that.” And he swam off again across the lake, leaving Madeline feeling disturbed, annoyed, and with it all a little amused.

During the day there were few opportunities for
tête-à-têtes
, romantic or otherwise, but the programme was a fascinating one. After breakfast, which was eaten, like most meals, on the upper terrace, the guests all piled into their own or someone else’s car and drove off, first to visit the Fish Hatchery of the Province at St Faustin, and then on to Mont Tremblant Lodge for lunch.

At the Hatchery, Madeline was fascinated to make the round of the ponds in the great gardens, which, she was told, contained trout ranging from six months to six years in age. Some of them were more than a foot in size, but others were hardly bigger than her own finger.

“When they’re about six or eight months old,” Don Elliott explained, “they’re taken by plane and dropped into the various lakes scattered throughout the Laurentians. And that’s the way we keep this a fisherman’s paradise.”

Madeline laughed incredulously as she watched the tiny darting shadows in the ponds, and said, “What a surprise it must be for them when it happens!”

“I guess it is,” Don agreed good-humouredly. While Dr. Lanyon added reflectively,

“But then life is full of surprises for little fish.”

Madeline turned away, annoyed, almost sure that he was teasing her. And when Morton came over from one of the other ponds, she slipped her arm into his with a feeling of something like defiance.

Morton glanced down at her and smiled. There was the slightest pressure of his arm on her fingers, which no one but Madeline could know about, of course. But, even so, she had the odd impression that nothing in the whole incident had really escaped Dr. Lanyon’s uncannily keen observation.

Then the party drove on to the five-thousand-acre property surrounding Mont Tremblant Lodge, and here Madeline was introduced to a perfect reproduction of a French-Canadian village, complete even to its church.

Some of the cottages were architectural gems, and, later, when they went into the Lodge for lunch, Judy took her through some of the rooms, where everything was complete in its original French-Canadian style.

“Even the bedspreads are hand-woven in Quebec Province,” Judy explained. “Isn’t it darling?—like something out of a fairy tale.”

“All this weekend is like something out of a fairy tale,” Madeline declared. “I don’t know how I’m going to describe it all in letters to my people at home.”

“They will want to come out and see it for themselves, I guess,” Judy Elliott said with a smile.

“I hope my stepmother will,” Madeline declared. “Will come out here eventually, I mean. She half promised to do so before I left.”

“Will she come on her own? Aren’t there any other members of the family to come?”

“No. Only my sister, and she is married now,” Madeline explained. And then suddenly she remembered that, if things had been different, Clarissa might also have been here this weekend as the wife of Nat Lanyon, and somehow the idea reduced her to astonished silence.

Judy did not notice this, however, merely thinking that they had exhausted the subject of Madeline’s family. And so they rejoined the others and had lunch beside the inevitable swimming pool.

The journey home in the lengthening afternoon shadows was a leisurely one, and if Madeline and Morton had been alone in the car it would have been an occasion for further heart-to-heart talk of themselves. But, as on the outward journey, they were giving a lift to two of the other guests, and Madeline was not entirely sure whether she was glad or sorry because of this.

It was over dinner that night that Dr. Lanyon said to her, “May I give you a lift back into town tomorrow evening? I hear that Sanders is staying on up here and that you need someone to drive you in.”

It was an invitation which, Madeline knew, half the staff of the Dominion would have given much to have, and, in spite of her momentary annoyance with him, she was by no means indifferent to the distinction. So she thanked him and said she would be very glad to accept his offer, and only when he had turned away did she see how glum Morton was looking.

“I meant to drive you in myself,” he said, as she met his rather sombre glance.

“But, Morton, you came out here to stay!”

“Well, I could come back, couldn’t I?”

The retort was so unlike his usual casual, good-humoured, half-mocking utterances that she stared in astonishment.

“But it isn’t necessary,” she pointed out patiently. “Dr. Lanyon is driving in to Montreal anyway. It’s very natural that he should take me. Isn’t it?” she pressed, as he was silent.

“If you think so.”

“Morton”—she laughed exasperatedly but, for all her self-control, a little tenderly—“don’t be silly. You don’t mind his taking me, really, do you?”

“Not,” he said, with something of his usual smile, “if you promise me that you won’t enjoy the journey home so much as the journey here.”

“It would be impossible,” Madeline assured him quite sincerely. And with that he appeared to be satisfied.

She thought a lot about that foolish little incident afterwards. She was too kind and too sensible to enjoy exciting jealousy in anyone for the sheer self-satisfaction of proving that she could do so. But she could not be blind to the fact that jealousy must be a very rare occurrence in anyone so handsome, so self-assured and so successful as Morton.

He was used to moulding events and people to suit himself, she was quite sure, and it could not have been often that he felt doubtful of his effect on any woman. What was it about herself that seemed to shake his assurance?

“I’m not wonderfully unusual or beautiful or anything like that,” Madeline thought “Was it that I undervalued his good fortune and presumed to be sorry for him, when no one else even suspects that there is any reason to be so?”

Whatever it might be, Madeline went out of her way the next day to make Morton feel that it was his company she wanted out at Bonaventure, and that, whoever took her home, it was the coming with him that had been important. As a result, his good humour and good spirits were completely restored, and that afternoon he took her out in a boat on the lake and made love to her in his charming, half-mocking, half-serious way, until Madeline wished that she could stay here for weeks and weeks, and forget that such a place as the Dominion Hospital ever existed.

However, practical considerations never yet stood aside for romantic ones, and presently she had to insist that Morton should take her back to the landing-stage, so that they would be in time for an early dinner and her departure with Dr. Lanyon.

“I don’t know why the fellow wants to start out so early,” Morton said impatiently. “You don’t need to be in by twelve like Cinderella, do you?”

“I have a late pass,” Madeline agreed with a smile, “but I don’t want to use it unless it’s necessary. I do have to go on duty tomorrow morning at seven, you know. And—much more important—Dr. Lanyon will be operating tomorrow, from an early hour.”

“Looks after himself well, doesn’t he?” Morton grumbled.

“No. He looks after his patients,” Madeline replied firmly. “No conscientious surgeon goes on duty feeling less than his best if he can possibly help it. You wouldn’t want to have a tired surgeon operating on you, would you, Morton?”

Morton laughed.

“I’d adore being nursed by you afterwards,” was all he would say.

There was not much time left together after that, and it seemed a very short while until she was saying good-bye to the Elliotts and thanking them for their friendly insistence that she must come again soon.

“Morton or Nat will drive you out,” declared Judy, with fine impartiality. “Or, if Don is in town and you have some off-duty time, he can always pick you up from the hospital. Just phone when you’re free to come, and we’ll lay on transport somehow.”

Madeline thanked her again and turned to say good-bye to Morton. But, putting his arm round her, he came with her to the front of the house, and there, out of sight of the house-party, but in full view of Dr. Lanyon, who was already at the wheel of his car, he kissed her with an almost possessive tenderness that left her trembling a little.

“I must go, Morton, I must go!” she insisted, acutely aware of the waiting figure in the car.

“Let him wait,” said Morton, laughing down into her eyes.

“No, I can’t!” she declared and, tearing herself away, she ran towards the car, frightened as much by the thought of keeping Dr. Lanyon waiting as by the strange and inexplicable sensations she experienced when Morton kissed her like that.

“Ready?” said Dr. Lanyon drily, leaning forward to open the door for her.

“Quite ready,” Madeline assured him a little breathlessly. And, as soon as she had slipped into the seat beside him and shut the door, he started the car, hardly giving her time to wave to the solitary figure of Morton, standing on the steps of Bonaventure.

For quite a while they drove in silence, Madeline pretending to be interested in the scenery and Dr. Lanyon presumably concerned with his driving, or perhaps with his cases on the morrow.

Then, as they turned at last from the mountain path into the main road, he said quite pleasantly,

“So you thought it worth the risk?”

She glanced at him, but he was looking straight ahead, and nothing in his expression suggested that he thought his remark either personal or peculiar.

“I don’t quite understand.”

“No? I was thinking of our conversation a few days ago. I thought we agreed—or perhaps you didn’t altogether agree with me—that the price of Morton Sanders’ attentions would inevitably be the jealous fury of his mother.”