"Have you, dear? I wish I had!" The two girls were in the Gower Street garden again, and Lucy was swinging lazily in the hammock, just as she had done that summer day nearly two years before. "You know I told you the Pater had had a little money left him?" "Yes, and very glad I was to hear it." "Well, the more I see of what is being done in a medical way in the hub of the profession here, the more I am inclined to think it might be worth while for the Mater to come in to town." Mona did not answer for a minute or two. She was trying to intensify her recollections of Mrs Reynolds's somewhat mysterious illness. "I think it is extremely likely," she said at last. "I would take her to Dr Bateson, get her to go into the case thoroughly, and then choose any specialist she liked--man or woman--to consult with. Don't you think that would be wise?" "Very." "It is perfectly awful to think how helpless people are who are quite outside the profession. I think it is worth while studying medicine, if only to be able to tell your friends whom, to consult,--or rather, whom not to consult." "I know. When I am low-spirited I brood over all the people whose deaths I might have prevented, if I had known what I know now. If I were a reformer, like Miss Lascelles, there is one change I would try to work in the profession. Every family able to pay for a doctor at all should give a yearly amount to some sharp-eyed, keen-witted, common-sense man or woman, who would keep an eye on the children, and detect the first trace of struma, or lateral curvature, or any of the neuroses. He need not be a great don at all. He must understand the dynamics of a vital organism in relation to its surroundings----" "The _what_?" said Lucy. "----know the value of iron and cod-liver oil; and, above all, see when the moment has arrived to send for a specialist. It seems to me that half the mistakes that are made would be prevented, if that plan were carried out." "Or you might adopt the Chinese system,--salary the doctor, and stop his pay when you get ill." Mona laughed. "The fact is, the public have not begun to realise yet how medicine is specialised, and most doctors are afraid to tell them." There was a few minutes' silence. "Edgar Davidson took me over St Kunigonde's yesterday," said Lucy presently. "Who is Edgar Davidson?" "I wish somebody would prescribe for your memory, Mona. Believe me, the moment has come, when your jog-trot, common-sense adviser"--she bowed--"suggests a specialist. Don't you remember the boy we met at Monte Carlo?" "Oh yes, to be sure." "He is developing a very wholesome admiration for me." "I thought boy-worshippers were the special appanage of middle-aged women, like myself!" "He is not such a boy, after all," said Lucy, colouring slightly. "And all his worship is reserved for a wonderful fellow-student of his, whom he introduced to me yesterday--Dr Dudley." Mona rearranged her cushions.