He made great friends with the Doctor and the Sisters. One of them used to talk of an old Major in his Regiment with a tenderness that led him to suspect a veiled romance. He was now growing better daily, and was assailed with the insatiable hunger that follows fever. No sooner had he bolted down one meal than he counted the hours to the next. One day they left a meal-tray on his chest, and apparently forgot it. At the end of half-an-hour his patience abandoned him. He deliberately reached out and threw everything upon the floor. The Sister came running up to see what was the matter. He maintained a haughty silence. She picked up the aluminium plates and cups. Her starched dress crinkled. "Oh, you naughty boy!" she said, smiling entrancingly. There was nothing for it: he burst out laughing. Soon afterwards it occurred to him that, as all he had got to do was to lie in bed and wait, this could be done just as easily in a London hospital. "As soon as you are well enough to travel, you shall go to England. Your case can be better treated there," the Doctor promised him. CHAPTER XXXIV SOMEWHERE IN MAYFAIR The speed of the train astounded him. Such tremendous things had happened to him since he had last travelled in an express train. He loved every English field as it passed, every hedge and tree. He was at peace with the world. The only blemish was that the awful war was still dragging on its awful course--still exacting its awful toll. He was rushing Londonwards--towards his "people" and everything he wanted. The pains had gone from his head, except for occasional headaches. And, wonder of wonders, he could move his whole leg and arm! Contentment stole over him. He was on perfectly good terms with himself and the world in general. Life, after all, was delightful. * * * * * The voyage had been wonderful. Not for one moment of the forty-eight hours that it took to reach Southampton did the wavelets upset the equilibrium of the vessel. Only the faintest vibration showed him that she was moving at all. The food had been good and plentiful, the attendance matchless. All things seemed to be "working together for good." While engrossed in this reverie, he awoke to the fact that well-known landscapes were rolling past his window. Tidshot! There was the familiar landmark--the tree-crested hill and the church. The station flashed by, and then the well-known training areas. "Just as if I were going up to town for the week-end!" he told himself. The familiar suburbs whizzed past. Clapham Junction, Vauxhall, the grinding of brakes, and the train was gliding quietly along Waterloo platform. An Officer boarded the train, and, in spite of a great deal of discussion and requests, succeeded in thrusting scraps of paper into every one's hand. "The Something Hospital, Chester Square," some one read.