Queenie Paulle."

"I deeply apologise, Mr. Chairman," replied the aged but active Sir
Stephen, nervously stroking his rather long beard. "I hope, however,
that I may be allowed to associate myself very closely with the
resolution." After a suitable pause and general silence he went on:
"I've been detained by that Nurse Smaith that my sub-committee's been
having trouble with. You'll find, when you come to them, that she's on
my sub-committee's minutes. I've just had an interview with her, and
she says she wants to see the executive. I don't know what you think,
Mr. Chairman--" He stopped.

G.J. smiled.

"I should have her brought in," said the lady who had previously
spoken. "If I might suggest," she added.

A boy scout, who seemed to have long ago grown out of his uniform,
entered with a note for somebody. He was told to bring in Nurse
Smaith.

She proved to be a rather short and rather podgy woman, with a
reddish, not rosy, complexion, and red hair. The ugly red-bordered
cape of the British Red Cross did not suit her better than it suited
any other wearer. She was in full, strict, starched uniform, and
prominently wore medals on her plenteous breast. She looked as though,
if she had a sister, that sister might be employed in a large draper's
shop at Brixton or Islington. In saying "Gid ahfternoon" she revealed
the purity of a cockney accent undefiled by Continental experiences.
She sat down in a manner sternly defensive. She was nervous and