Chip flushed a little under her touch and the tone in which she spoke
the last words. It seemed to mean that she hated it even more than he
did, having him helpless in the house with her. It hadn't been so long
since she had told him plainly how little she liked him. He was not
going to forget, in a hurry!

"Why don't you send me to the hospital ?" he demanded, brusquely.
"I could stand the trip, all right."

The Little Doctor, the color coming and going in her cheeks, pressed her
cool fingers against his forehead.

"Because I want you here to practice on. Do you think I'd let such a
chance escape?"

After she was gone, Chip found some things to puzzle over. He felt that
he was no match for the Little Doctor, and for the first time in his life
he deeply regretted his ignorance of woman nature.

When the dishes were done, the Countess put her resentment behind her
and went in to sit with Chip, with the best of intentions. The most
disagreeable trait of some disagreeable people is that their intentions
are invariably good. She had her "crochy work," and Chip groaned
inwardly when he saw her settle herself comfortably in a rocking-
chair and unwind her thread. The Countess had worked hard all her
life, and her hands were red and big-jointed. There was no pleasure
in watching their clever manipulation of the little, steel hook.
If it had been the Little Doctor's hands, now--Chip turned again to
the decapitated, pale blue vine with its pink flowers and no leaves.