Bobbie had arranged to call for me on his birthday, so when my off duty
came I simply flung on my things and raced for the hall. As I passed
Matron's door she called me in. I entered trembling; it was always a
toss-up with Matron whether you were to be smiled upon or strafed.

To-day she was lamb-like. She sat at a desk piled high with papers. Among
them lay a vivid coloured object.

"I've just had a letter from that young Renshaw," she said. "Such a
charming letter, thanking us for all our kindness and enclosing a present
to show his appreciation." She smiled. She seemed hugely pleased about
something. "He addresses it to me," she went on; "but, though I am grateful
for the kind thought, I do not myself eat chocolates."

She picked up the box, a comfortable-looking box ornamented with an orange
satin bow.

"I think these are more in your line than mine," she said, "and Renshaw was
in your ward. You have really the best right to them."

She handed me the box of chocolates. I gazed at my travelled Saint and he
gazed back. I could almost have sworn he winked.

Clutching him and his dragon, I departed and danced down the corridor into
the hall. There waited Bobbie, red-haired and khaki-clad, more like St.
George than the gallant knight himself.

"How do you do?" I greeted him. "Many happy returns, dear old thing!" As he
held out his hand I put something into it. "A box of chocolates," I
explained; "I bought them for your birthday!"