What? . . . Certainly, delighted. No, there's nobody here but old
Seton Pasha. What? You've heard the fellows talk about him who were
out East. . . . Yes, that's the chap. . . . Come right along."
"You don't propose to lionise me, I hope, Gray?" said Seton, as Gray
returned to his seat.
The other laughed.
"I forgot you could hear me," he admitted. "It's my cousin, Margaret
Halley. You'll like her. She's a tip-top girl, but eccentric. Goes in
for pilling."
"Pilling?" inquired Seton gravely.
"Doctoring. She's an M.R.C.S., and only about twenty-four or so.
Fearfully clever kid; makes me feel an infant."
"Flat heels, spectacles, and a judicial manner?"
"Flat heels, yes. But not the other. She's awfully pretty, and used to
look simply terrific in khaki. She was an M.O. in Serbia, you know,
and afterwards at some nurses' hospital in Kent. She's started in
practice for herself now round in Dover Street. I wonder what she
wants."
Silence fell between them; for, although prompted by different
reasons, both were undesirous of discussing the tragedy; and this
silence prevailed until the ringing of the doorbell announced the
arrival of the girl. Willis opening the door, she entered composedly,
and Gray introduced Seton.
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