"I am a physician," he said simply, "Get the porter, will you?" Without
an instant's question or hesitation, the girl permitted him to relieve
her, and turned to the front of the car. Other women and one fussy,
noisy man were coming up now. Dr. Blake waved them aside. "We need air
most of all--open that window, will you?" The girl was back with the
porter. "Is the compartment occupied? Then open it. We must put her on
her back." The porter fumbled for his keys. Dr. Blake gathered up the
little old woman in his arms, and spoke over his shoulder to the blonde
girl:

"You will come with us?" She nodded. Somehow, he felt that he would
have picked her from the whole car to assist in this emergency. She was
like one of those born trained nurses who ask no questions, need no
special directions, and are as reliable as one's instruments.

The old woman was stirring by the time he laid her out on the sofa of
the compartment. He wet a towel in the pitcher at the washstand, wrung
it out, pressed it on her forehead. It needed no more than that to
bring her round.

"Only a faint," said Dr. Blake; "the day's hot and she's not accustomed
to train travel, I suppose. Is she--does she belong to your party?"

The girl spoke for the first time in his hearing. Even before he seized
the meaning of her speech, he noted with a thrill the manner of it.
Such a physique as this should go with the high, silvery tone of a
flute; so one always imagines it. This girl spoke in the voice of a
violin--soft, deep, deliciously resonant. In his mind flashed a picture
for which he was a long time accounting--last winter's ballet of the
New York Hippodrome. Afterward, he found the key to that train of