She was a very pretty girl. He had seen her before in the hospital, but he
had never really noticed how attractive she was. Rather stunning she was,
he thought. The combination of yellow hair and dark eyes was unusual. He
remembered, just in time, to express regret at Miss Simpson's bereavement.

"I am Miss Harrison," explained the substitute, and held out his long white
coat. The ceremony, purely perfunctory with Miss Simpson on duty, proved
interesting, Miss Harrison, in spite of her high heels, being small and the
young surgeon tall. When he was finally in the coat, she was rather
flushed and palpitating.

"But I KNEW your name, of course," lied Dr. Max. "And--I'm sorry about the
vacation."

After that came work. Miss Harrison was nimble and alert, but the surgeon
worked quickly and with few words, was impatient when she could not find
the things he called for, even broke into restrained profanity now and
then. She went a little pale over her mistakes, but preserved her dignity
and her wits. Now and then he found her dark eyes fixed on him, with
something inscrutable but pleasing in their depths. The situation was:
rather piquant. Consciously he was thinking only of what he was doing.
Subconsciously his busy ego was finding solace after last night's rebuff.

Once, during the cleaning up between cases, he dropped to a personality.
He was drying his hands, while she placed freshly sterilized instruments on
a glass table.

"You are almost a foreign type, Miss Harrison. Last year, in a London
ballet, I saw a blonde Spanish girl who looked like you."